LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


ADAM    CLARKE 


A  STORY  OF  THE  TOILERS 


Being  a  Narrative  of  the  Experiences  of  a  Family  of 

British  Emigrants  to  the  United  States  in  Cotton 

Mill,   Iron   Foundry,   Coal   Mine,  and 

Other  Fields  of  Labor 


By   HENRY   MANN 

Author  of  "Ancient  and  Mediceval  Republics,'1''  "The  Land 
Live  /»,"  " Handbook  for  American  Citizens"  Etc. 


NEW   YORK 
POPULAR   BOOK    COMPANY 

1904 


LIBRARY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

PAVIS 


COPYRIGHT,  1904 

BY  HENRY  MANN 

All  Rights  Reserved 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION  ...........................  .  ...........    vii 

CHAPTER  I 
The  Death  of  Adam  Clarke  ..........................       I 

CHAPTER  II 
To  the  Promised  Land  ...............................     15 

CHAPTER  III 
The  New  York  Slave-Market  ........................     29 

CHAPTER  IV 
Serfs  of  the  Loom  ..................................     4$ 


CHAPTER  V 
The  City  of  Smoke  and  Flame  ....................  .  .     52 

CHAPTER  VI 
Harmonyville  ......................................     67 

CHAPTER  VII 
The  Slater  Club  Encourages  American  Industry  ......     70 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Senator  Palmitch  Addresses  a  Meeting  in   Behalf  of 
Protection  for  the  American  Workingman  ..........     79 

CHAPTER  IX 
The  Coal  Mine  ......................................     89 

CHAPTER  X 
The  Hunk's  Revenge  ................................     93 

CHAPTER  XI 
Before  the  Great  Pittsburgh  Strike  ..................     98 

iii 


iv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XII 
The  Strike 101 

CHAPTER  XIII 
The  Military no 

CHAPTER  XIV 
Monopoly  Tastes  Blood H7 

CHAPTER  XV 
Two  Miles  of  Fire 125 

CHAPTER  XVI 
In  the  Gray  of  the  Morning 131 

CHAPTER  XVII 
The  Blacklist 133 

CHAPTER  XVIII 
Driven  from  His  Native  Land 139 

CHAPTER  XIX 
Robert  Clarke  Meets  the  Reverend  Jefferson  Jones 147 

CHAPTER  XX 

Banker    Dilkins    Explains    the    Kind    of    Sermon    He 
Wants 149 

f 

CHAPTER  XXI 
The  Banker's  Victim 159 

CHAPTER  XXII 
An  East  Side  Settlement  Feast 162 

CHAPTER  XXIII 
The  Reverend  Jefferson  Jones  Preaches  to  Millionaires.  168 

CHAPTER  XXIV 
Death  of  Mrs.  Clarke 173 


CONTENTS  V 

CHAPTER  XXV 
Robert  Clarke's  Struggle  with  Poverty 176 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
Turning  Off  the   Gas.  „ * 179 

CHAPTER  XXVII 
The  Charity  Roundabout  Society 183 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 
Craddock's  Coal  Mine  on  Fire 188 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
Robert  Clarke  Dies,  and  Adam  Turns  Newsboy 195 

CHAPTER  XXX 

Adam's  Leg  Crushed — Charky  Murphy  Goes  with  Him 
to  the  Hospital 199 

CHAPTER  XXXI 
Mrs.  Clarke  Has  Some  Visitors 204 

CHAPTER  XXXII 
Andrew  Craig  Comes  Home  Again 207 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 
The  Conversion  of  Craddock 211 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Craig  Falls  in  Love  with  Craddock's  Daughter,  Pris- 
cilla 214 

CHAPTER  XXXV 

Charley  Murphy   Becomes   a   Member   of  the   Clarke 
Family 220 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 
The  Pullman  Strike 224 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXXVII 
The  Mustache  Degree 231 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
The  Duchess  of  Oldtower  and  Countess  of  Ruinville. .  234 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 
The  Usual  Strike-Breaking  Plot 237 

CHAPTER  XL 
An  Excuse  to  Slay 241 

CHAPTER  XLI 
The  Anti-Murder  Strike 245 

CHAPTER  XLII 
Cowards  Fire  on  Women 248 

CHAPTER  XLIII 
Capitalists  Hold  a  Meeting 252 

CHAPTER  XLIV 

Sheriff  Macanotchie's   New   Departure   in   Securing  a 
Posse 256 

CHAPTER  XLV 
The   Encounter   and   Flight 261 

CHAPTER  XLVI 
In  the  Coeur  d' Alene 265 

CHAPTER  XLVII 
A  Corral  for  American  "Freemen" 268 

CHAPTER  XLVIII 
Two  Clarke   Brothers   Meet 272 

CHAPTER  XLIX 

From  Mother's  Grave  to  the  Wedding  of  Andrew  and 
Priscilla 277 


INTRODUCTION. 

I  have  sought,  in  the  following  story,  simple  in 
its  plot,  but  dealing  with  some  prominent  incidents 
of  recent  and  current  American  history,  to  present 
a  true  picture  of  the  conditions  of  labor  in  the 
United  States.  I  have  taken  a  respectable  British 
family,  a  widowed  mother  and  sons  and  daughters, 
all  brought  up  in  habits  of  industry  and  thrift,  and 
traced  them  through  years  of'  faithful  effort  in 
various  fields  of  toil.  The  technical  features  of  the 
work  have  been  carefully  studied.  I  got  up  at  mid 
night  in  my  hotel  in  Pittsburgh  to  go  into  the  roll 
ing-mills  and  learn  to  describe  their  operations  in 
language  that  would  be  correct  as  well  as  intel 
ligible.  The  story  of  the  great  Pittsburgh  riots  I 
obtained  from  the  lips  of  former  Mayor  McCarthy 
of  that  city,  and  from  others  who  took  an  active 
part  in  the  terrible  episode.  A  long  period  of  ser 
vice  as  a  newspaper  man  in  New  England  gave  me 
an  opportunity  to  become  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  cotton  mills.  For  information  as  to 
Pennsylvania  coal  mines  and  the  scenes  of  the 
Coeur  d'Alene,  I  have  had  to  depend  on  the  usual 
sources  of  public  information,  and  I  have  spared  no 
effort  to  be  accurate.  Frequent  employment  by  a 
well-known  religious  newspaper  to  describe  con 
ditions  on  the  East  Side  of  New  York  has  enabled 

vii 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION 

me  to  form  a  fair  idea,  I  think,  of  the  methods  and 
motives  of  the  charitable  work  in  that  densely  pop 
ulated  section.  The  Dilkins  Settlement  is  not  in 
tended  as  an  example  of  all  East  Side  Settlements. 
It  simply  illustrates  the  self-delusion  and  hypocrisy 
of  that  counterfeit  philanthropy  which  adds  to  the 
sting,  far  more  than  it  relieves,  the  hardships  of 
poverty.  There  is  a  percentage  of  good  work  done 
on  the  East  Side,  especially  by  the  Day  Nurseries, 
which  are  admirable  institutions. 

Apart  from  the  East  Side  feature  I  have  tried 
to  depict  with  truthful  reality  the  struggle  of  a  poor 
and  industrious  family  in  the  great  city,  unblessed 
by  any  lucky  prizes  in  the  lottery  of  life.  Charley 
Murphy,  the  newsboy,  is  not  by  any  means  a  rare 
character  in  the  streets  of  New  York.  Nothing  is 
more  touching,  nothing  nobler  than  the  kindness  of 
these  little  fellows  to  each  other.  They  often 
"scrap,"  but  they  are  willing  to  share  the  last  crust 
with  a  hungry  "fellow  newsy/'  and  their  hearts  and 
pockets  are  quick  to  respond  to  each  other's  needs. 
Their  persistence  in  selling  their  wares,  and  courage 
and  patience  in  privation,  offer  examples  which 
their  elders  well  might  imitate. 

As  a  reporter  I  have  had  frequent  occasion  to  at 
tend  the  churches  in  which  the  wealthier  class  of 
New  York  listen  to  the  polished  periods  of  their 
well-paid  pastors,  and  have  noted  the  care  with 
which  the  pulpit  avoids  any  subject  which  might 
grate  the  nerves  of  Dives.  The  Reverend  Jefferson 
Jones,  who  got  into  one  of  these  pulpits  by  a  ves 
tryman's  blunder  is,  unfortunately  for  the  cause  of 


INTRODUCTION  IX 

vigorous  Christianity,  an  ideal  character.  In  real 
life  he  would  be  as  carefully  excluded  as  a  ragged 
stranger  from  a  millionaire's  pew. 

The  humbug  of  a  revenue  system,  which  places 
a  high  tariff  on  foreign  goods,  while  permitting  the 
free  admission  of  foreign  labor  to  make  so-called 
American  goods,  is  perhaps  inadequately  illustrated 
in  the  chapter  dealing  with  Senator  Palmitch's 
speech  in  behalf  of  protection  for  American  indus 
try,  addressed  to  an  audience  which  did  not  include 
a  single  American,  or  even  English-speaking  for 
eigners.  American  workers  are  becoming  aroused 
to  the  fact  that  the  present  system  is  for  the  benefit 
of  manufacturers  only,  and  that  the  workingman 
in  mill,  factory  and  mine  has  absolutely  no  protec 
tion  against  the  overwhelming  competition  of  a 
Niagara  of  foreign  labor,  much  of  it  objectionable 
from  both  physical  and  moral  standpoints,  which 
pours  daily  in  a  vast  torrent  into  the  United  States 
from  all  parts  of  Europe,  and  even  adjoining  Asia. 
If  this  little  book  shall  serve  to  excite  the  real  Amer 
ican  workingman  to  greater  vigilance  on  this  all- 
important  question,  to  quicken  selfish  capital  to  a 
keener  sense  of  its  obligations  to  those  whose  toil 
makes  capital  productive,  and  to  animate  the 
wealthy  with  more  of  the  true  Christian  spirit  in 
dealing  with  the  helpless  and  unfortunate,  it  will  ac 
complish  the  aim  of  the  author. 

HENRY  MANN. 


ADAM   CLARKE 

A    STORY    OF    THE    TOILERS 
CHAPTER   I. 

THE   DEATH   OF   ADAM    CLARKE. 

"THE  poor,  oppressed,  honest  man 

Had  never  sure  been  born, 
Had  there  not  been  some   recompense 
To  comfort  those  that  mourn." 

— Robert  Burns. 

"I  NEED  not  come  again,  Mrs.  Clarke." 
The  words  were  spoken  bluntly,  yet  not  un 
kindly,  as  if  the  speaker  felt  that  he  was  performing 
a  routine  duty,  and  meant  to  perform  it  with  a  decent 
amount  of  regard  for  the  feelings  of  those  whom  he 
doctored  at  a  penny  a  week — this  being  the  weekly 
deduction  from  the  pay  of  every  workingman  at  the 
Great  Western  Engine  Works,  to  go  towards  medi 
cal  attendance. 

The  woman  addressed  was  about  forty-five  years 
of  age,  slender  in  build,  her  dark  hair  well  streaked 
with  gray,  and  her  dark  brown  eyes  wearing  that 
expression  of  calm,  resigned,  and  almost  callous 
hopelessness  so  often  to  be  noticed  in  women  who 

i 


2  ADAM     CLARKE 

have  struggled  to  middle  age  in  the  lower  walks  of 
life.  Her  attire  was  neat  and  poor;  her  whole  ap 
pearance  indicated  that  cleanliness  was  a  second 
nature  to  her,  and,  as  she  brushed  away  the  tears 
that  trickled  unbidden  at  the  doctor's  brief  but  crush 
ing  utterance,  her  hand,  as  by  unconscious  habit, 
smoothed  back  the  hair  from  her  forehead. 

"Oh,  doctor  !"  was  all  she  could  say ;  but  the  eyes 
brimming  over  with  her  small  share  of  the  vast  ocean 
of  human  sorrow,  seemed  to  ask  the  question  that 
strained  at  her  heart-strings. 

"Sorry,  Mrs.  Clarke — sorry,"  said  the  physician, 
in  a  softer  tone  than  he  used  before,  "but  your  hus 
band  is  an  old  man,  you  know,  and  I  have  done  the 
best  I  could.  I  suppose  you  have  had  the  minister? 
If  not,  you  should  call  him  at  once." 

And  Dr.  Swinton  started  away;  not  altogether 
without  a  sense  of  relief  that  this  case  was  over — 
for  him.  Adam  Clarke  had  lingered  for  a  number  of 
weeks,  and  consumed  a  large  quantity  of  medicine. 
Dr.  Swinton  attended  upon  him  with  regularity  and 
skill,  and  had  nothing  to  regret  in  that  respect,  and, 
as  he  was  preparing  to  spend  a  few  weeks  on  the 
continent,  and  when  the  summer  should  get  warmer, 
do  a  little  shooting  on  the  Scottish  moors,  he  was  not 
sorry  to  have  Adam  Clarke  taken  off  his  hands,  even 
by  death.  As  for  other  slight  cases  of  sickness  in 
the  village,  his  assistant  could  attend  to  those. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  a  warm  April  shower 
was  dripping  down  as  the  physician,  drawing  on  his 
gloves  and  raising  his  umbrella,  hurriedly  stepped 
forth  from  the  humble  cottage  in  Victoria  Row, 


THE    DEATH     OF     ADAM     CLARKE  3 

Somerton,  England.  The  clock  in  the  tower  of  the 
Mechanics'  Institute  tolled  the  strokes  of  eleven. 
The  town  was  asleep,  except  here  and  there  a  belated 
tippler  from  the  Prince  Albert  Arms,  or  where  a 
light,  glimmering  through  the  diamond  panes  in  the 
window  of  some  little  home,  hinted  that  the  inmates 
were  wasting  in  grief  or  pleasure  the  hours  of  pre 
paration  for  the  morrow's  toil. 

Adam  Clarke  and  his  wife  were  alone  together. 

Married,  a  bright  Devonshire  lass,  at  twenty,  to 
the  thrifty  and  brawny  Scotchman  of  forty,  for 
twenty-five  years  she  had  been  to  him  a  faithful, 
loving  partner,  and  he  to  her  a  true,  devoted  hus 
band.  She  had  borne  him  children,  washed  for  him, 
scrubbed  for  him,  mended  his  smock-frock  when  it 
was  torn  or  worn,  patched  his  every-day  clothing, 
and  carefully  guarded  the  Sunday  suit  in  which  he 
took  the  children  to  church  and  to  walk  on  the  Sab 
bath  day.  He  had  become  part  of  her  life,  and  she 
of  his.  This  cottage  was  her  world,  and  he  its 
emperor.  Amelia — Emily,  her  husband  called  her 
— cared  but  little  for  gossip  or  news.  Adam  came 
home  every  Monday  evening  with  the  Somerton 
Advertiser,  and  read  the  affairs  of  interest  at  home 
and  abroad.  Sometimes  he  read  how  happy  Queen 
Victoria  was  with  Prince  Albert,  and  how  good 
Prince  Albert  was  to  Queen  Victoria,  and  then 
Emily,  in  her  honest  mind,  would  think  that  she  did 
not  envy  Queen  Victoria,  for  no  Prince  Albert  could 
be  better  than  her  Adam. 

And  children  had  come,  one  after  the  other,  until 
seven  were  numbered  in  the  family  Bible,  not  count- 


4  ADAM     CLARKE 

ing  two  who  died  in  infancy.  Adam,  the  oldest, 
proudly  named  after  his  father,  grew  up  a  promising 
lad,  and  learned  his  father's  trade  of  boilermaker. 
No  more  expert  apprentice  was  on  the  pay-roll  of  the 
Somerton  Iron  Works.  But  young  Adam  was  im 
patient  and  ambitious,  and  three  years  before,  he 
had  started  for  London  and  taken  a  sailing  vessel 
to  Australia.  During  two  years  he  corresponded 
regularly  with  his  parents,  and  then  his  letters 
ceased  to  come.  This  apparent  neglect  caused  no 
little  grief  to  Adam  and  Emily ;  but  they  could  spare 
no  time  to  weep  over  the  indifference  of  their  first 
born.  The  struggle  for  existence  demanded  con 
tinual  exertion,  and  as  Adam  advanced  in  years,  the 
exertion  told  more  and  more  upon  his  once  rugged 
frame.  Three  other  sons  he  had,  two  of  them  old 
enough  to  be  of  some  assistance,  and  three  daugh 
ters,  the  youngest  a  flaxen-haired  lassie  of  eight 
summers  and  winters,  the  pet  and  pride  of  her 
father,  who  saw  in  her  lint-white  locks,  and  eyes  as 
blue  as  the  Northern  Sea  that  broke  on  the  shores  of 
his  native  Aberdeen,  the  token  of  her  ancestry. 

The  children  were  out  in  the  kitchen,  leaving,  as 
was  their  custom,  the  doctor  alone  with  their  mother 
and  suffering  father. 

Adam  Clarke  seemed  unconscious  of  what  was 
passing.  His  face  was  emaciated,  his  eyes  closed, 
his  breathing  almost  undiscernible,  and  only  an  ir 
regular  heaving  of  the  chest  suggested  that  the  spirit 
had  not  taken  flight. 

Mrs.  Clarke  stepped  softly  towards  the  bed.  She 
spoke  not.  With  a  gulp  of  agony  she  fell  on  her 


THE    DEATH     OF     ADAM     CLARKE  5 

knees,  and  seized  her  husband's  bony  hand  from 
under  the  bedclothes,  and  kissed  it  and  kissed  it. 

"Don't  take  Adam!  Oh,  Lord,  spare  my  poor 
husband !"  sobbed  the  stricken  wife. 

A  gleam  of  light — a  streak  of  yellow  sheen — a 
voice  as  soft  as  a  zephyr  of  May. — Had  an  angel 
come  in  answer  to  her  prayer  ? 

"Mamma !"  said  the  voice,  "Mamma  1" — and  there 
was  a  gentle  tug  at  the  mother's  dress. 

The  streaming  eyes  were  turned  towards  the 
speaker.  Well  might  she  have  been  mistaken  for 
a  messenger  from  on  high.  Of  the  fairest  type  of 
British  loveliness,  her  features  reminded  one  of  the 
exclamation  reluctantly  evoked  from  the  great  pon 
tiff  when  he  saw  English  children  exposed  for  sale 
in  the  market-place  of  Rome — "Not  Angles,  but 
angels." 

It  was  Allie,  the  youngest,  the  pet  of  the  family, 
the  heart's  idol  of  Adam  Clarke.  She  had  quietly 
opened  the  door,  and  stolen  in,  to  learn  the  fate  of 
the  parent  she  loved.  "Mamma,"  she  repeated, 
"what  did  the  doctor  say  about  father?" 

The  mother's  lips  quivered,  but  did  not  open. 
With  a  mother's  true  unselfishness  she  shrank  from 
laying  upon  her  darling  any  share  of  the  burden 
which  bowed  her  own  heart  to  suffocation.  She  was 
spared  that  pain. 

A  smile  illumined  the  wasted  features  of  Adam 
Clarke.  He,  too,  heard  the  voice  of  his  pet,  and  it 
quickened  him  back  to  consciousness.  His  eyes 
opened ;  his  lips  parted.  "Is  that  Allie  ?"  he  feebly 
asked. 


6  ADAM     CLARKE 

"Yes,  Adam,  we  are  here — Allie  and  I"  answered 
the  wife,  sobbing  convulsively,  as  she  leaned  over 
to  impress  a  kiss. 

"Emily,"  said  the  dying  man,  his  voice  very  weak, 
but  clearer  than  it  had  been  for  days, — "I  feel  that 
I'm  going;  and  I  have  a  word  to  say,  Emily,  to  all 
of  you." 

"Shall  I  send  for  the  minister,  Adam  ?"  asked  the 
wife. 

"No,  Emily;  not  now — he  was  here  yesterday, 
and  prayed,  and  read  the  Bible,  and  I  felt  better  in 
my  soul  for  it.  But  I  feel  that  the  few  minutes  left, 
Emily,  should  be  given  only  to  God  and  to  you." 

The  words  were  not  uttered  without  difficulty, 
but  were  plainly  intelligible.  A  whisper  to  Allie, 
and  in  a  moment  the  children,  in  tears,  were  at  the 
bedside.  The  head  of  the  dying  man  moved  slightly 
on  the  pillow,  as  if  he  would  fain  raise  it  to  look 
around  once  more  upon  his  family  circle,  upon  the 
wife  and  the  offspring  who  had  so  often  gathered 
about  the  hearth,  and  pictured  fairy  castles  in  the 
glowing  coals  of  the  grate,  while  their  father  made 
them  happy  with  tales  and  legends  of  the  Scotland 
they  had  never  seen. 

The  wife  understood  the  motion,  and  with  hand 
as  gentle,  as  loving,  and  far  more  tender  than  when 
she  smoothed  her  husband's  yellow  locks  upon  their 
bridal  day,  she  rearranged  the  pillow  so  that  Adam 
Clarke  could  see,  at  a  look,  all  his  dear  ones  around 
him — all  but  one,  the  son  who  was  away  in  distant 
Australia. 

It  was  a  touching  spectacle.    There  lay  the  aged 


THE    DEATH     OF     ADAM     CLARKE  / 

British  workingman,  his  scant  gray  hair,  his  sunken 
and  furrowed  cheeks,  his  mild  blue  eyes  no  longer 
glinting  with  health  and  hope  but  the  film  of  death 
almost  upon  them,  one  bony  hand  in  the  clasp  of  his 
faithful  partner  in  labor  and  in  affliction,  the  other 
outside  the  bedclothes,  betraying  in  calloused  palm 
and  roughened  finger-tips  what  Adam  Clarke  had 
been.  It  was  a  clean  bed ;  the  room  had  an  at 
mosphere  of  tidiness.  From  the  well-scrubbed  floor 
to  the  engraving  over  the  mantelpiece,  not  a  speck 
of  dirt  could  be  seen.  The  sick  man  had  evidently 
not  lacked  the  care  that  one  of  the  best  of  wives 
could  bestow. 

The  father's  eyes  wandered  from  one  face  to  the 
other,  and  the  memories  of  the  past  crowded  upon 
his  brain.  His  lips  moved.  He  was  repeating  to 
himself  the  lines  he  had  often  heard  Emily  speak, 
as  she  leaned  over  the  cot  where  slept  the  treasures 
of  their  home : 

"They  grew  in  beauty  side  by  side, 
They  filled  one  home  with  glee ; 
Their  graves  are  severed  far  and  wide 
By  mount  and  stream  and  sea. 

"  Twas  one  fond  mother  bent  at  night 

O'er  each  fair  sleeping  brow — 
She  had  each  folded  flower  in  sight — 
Where  are  those  dreamers  now?" 

There  stood  Robert,  the  second  son,  the  picture 
of  his  mother,  good,  kind-hearted,  faithful  Robert, 
wearing  the  smock  of  an  apprentice,  just  as  he  had 
hastened  home  that  evening  to  place  in  his  mother's 


8  ADAM     CLARKE 

hand  the  few  shillings  which  represented  his  earn 
ings  for  the  fortnight;  and  there  was  Alexander, 
next  to  Robert  in  years,  and  but  recently  bound  out 
to  learn  the  trade  of  his  brothers  and  of  his  father. 
They  were  both  boys  with  whom  any  parent  might 
well  be  satisfied — boys  that  would  make  their  way 
in  the  world,  if  industry  and  intelligence  and  in 
tegrity  could  carve  a  path  for  them.  And  there,  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  sobbing,  as  if  his  young  soul 
would  burst  from  his  childish  breast,  was  Wallace, 
sweet  little  Wallace,  still  going  to  the  National 
School,  where  he  was  taught  every  day  to  sing  "God 
Save  Our  Gracious  Queen,"  and  to  bear  in  mind  the 
duty  of  every  man  to  keep  within  his  allotted  station 
— young  Wallace's  allotted  station  being  plainly  in 
dicated  by  the  spectacle  on  the  bed.  Of  late,  during 
the  father's  illness,  it  had  gone  hard  to  pay  the 
threepence  a  week  required  as  the  fee  for  Wallace's 
schooling.  Threepence  would  have  bought  more 
than  one  little  delicacy  for  the  sick-room,  and  helped 
to  ease,  in  many  a  little  way,  the  monotonous  hours 
of  suffering.  But  Adam  Clarke  would  not  have  it. 
"No,  wife,"  he  would  say,  "Wallace  must  have  his 
schooling — and  who  knows  what  the  boy  may  be 
yet?  No,  I  will  go  without  the  mutton  broth  to-day, 
but  Wallace  must  have  his  schooling." 

Adam  Clarke  was  not  a  subject  of  charity.  He 
scorned,  even  in  extremity,  to  resort  to  the  parish. 
Had  he  been  a  pauper  the  parish  inspector  would 
have  called  and  have  seen  him  supplied  with  every 
thing  ordered  by  the  doctor;  and  his  case  would 
have  been  discussed  in  the  Board  of  Guardians  of 


THE     DEATH     OF     ADAM     CLARKE  9 

the  Poor,  and  perhaps  some  generous  lady  or  gentle 
man  would  have  called  and  bestowed  a  good  deal  of 
sympathy  and  a  small  amount  of  assistance.  But 
Adam  Clarke  was  too  proud  for  that.  He  would 
die,  as  he  had  lived,  independent  of  charity;  and 
when  the  doctor  said  that  he  should  have  delicacies 
that  cost  money  to  procure,  he  never  hinted  that 
the  slender  earnings  of  his  apprentice  sons  were  not 
equal  to  more  than  the  most  frugal  fare.  Yes, 
Adam  Clarke,  in  his  decent  poverty,  was  proud,  and 
had  reason  to  be — for  did  he  not  come  from  an 
honorable  lineage?  Had  not  his  ancestors  been 
burgesses  of  the  grand  old  city  of  Aberdeen?  Did 
not  his  grandfather  follow  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie 
to  the  fatal  field  of  Culloden?  And  had  not  his 
father  served  in  the  wars  of  Napoleon  under  the 
heroic  Nelson ! 

And  from  Wallace  the  eyes  of  the  father  wan 
dered  to  Martha  and  to  Mary — Martha,  not  blessed 
or  cursed  with  the  hapless  gift  of  beauty,  but  patient 
and  loving  withal,  a  true  pattern  of  her  mother  in 
disposition ;  but  with  a  good  share  of  her  father's 
stronger  physique.  Mary,  with  the  father's  will 
and  purpose  and  the  mother's  once  handsome  face. 
And  Allie — lovely,  darling  Allie,  the  babe  of  the 
ingleside.  What  thoughts  crowded  Adam's  mind  as 
his  gaze  rested  upon  that  seraph  face!  Again  he 
saw  his  own  Scottish  mother,  when  he  was  a  child, 
with  her  pure  complexion,  her  eyes  that  seemed  to 
mirror  the  azure  of  that  heaven  to  which  her  soul 
belonged,  the  flaxen  hair  that  told  of  the  days  long 
past,  when  the  sea-rovers  from  Scandinavia  wooed 


IO  ADAM     CLARKE 

the  fair  daughters  of  Aberdeen.  Allie — oh!  what 
would  become  of  Allie?  And,  at  the  thought,  a 
shudder  ran  through  his  frame,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
the  frail  cord  that  held  him  to  life  was  broken. 

For  a  moment  the  eyes  were  closed.  Then  they 
opened  again.  "Mother,"  said  the  dying  man,  slowly 
and  painfully,  "I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you 
all.  Ye  ken  weel,  lass,"  he  said,  his  tongue  going 
back  as  that  of  a  dying  man  is  apt  to,  to  the  dialect 
of  his  youth,  "what  ye  hae  been  to  me,  and  I  to  thee." 

Emily  sobbed  the  reply  she  was  not  able  to  speak. 

"It's  thirty  and  five  years,  lass,"  continued  Adam, 
distinctly,  "syne  I  turned  my  back  to  Aberdeen,  and 
my  face  towards  Glasgy.  Weel  I  remember  how 
I  sat  down  on  the  first  milestone  out  o'  Aberdeen, 
an'  did  greet  an'  greet,  as  if  my  heart  would  break. 
But  I  got  up,  and  walked  on  and  on,  wi  sair  feet  an' 
a  heavy  breast.  At  last  I  got  to  Glasgy,  and  got 
work  easy  in  the  shipyards  on  the  Clyde;  for  they 
saw  I  was  a  braw  mechanic.  The  years  rolled  on, 
lass,  an'  I  did  my  best,  and  kept  sober,  an*  read  the 
little  Bible  my  mither  gied  me  when  she  died." 

The  dying  man  paused.  He  had  passed  the  time 
for  tears.  But  the  thoughts  of  his  mother  moved 
him  so  that  he  could  not  recover  utterance  for  a 
minute  or  two. 

"Then  a  man  came  to  the  Clyde  from  Somerton, 
an'  offered  mair  wages  to  any  one  to  come  an'  work 
in  the  shops  here.  An'  I  came — an'  the  rest  ye  ken 
yersel,  lassie." 

The  mother  only  sobbed.  "The  rest" — those  two 
short  words  were  her  life  history ;  the  chords  of  her 
very  being  had  their  root  in  "the  rest." 


THE    DEATH     OF     ADAM     CLARKE  II 

"Ye  ken,  lassie,  that  I  hae  done  the  best  for  thee 
an5  the  bairns;  that  I  could  hae  done  nae  mair.  I 
hae  worked  steady  from  Monday's  dawn  thr'  a'  the 
week  till  Sunday.  Nae  time  hae  I  spent  in  the  Prince 
Albert  Arms,  for  I  always  hurried  hame  to  thee, 
lassie,  and  right  glad  I  was  to  put  every  shilling  in 
thy  hand,  for  I  kenned  it  would  be  put  to  the  best 
use  for  us  a'.  An'  we  hae  brought  up  these  lads 
and  lassies,  mither,  in  fear  o'  God ;  an'  they  hae  ne'er 
lacked  for  schoolin'  or  for  enough  to  eat  o'  the  puir 
food  we  could  provide.  An'  now  the  end  has  come, 
mither,  when  you  and  I  an'  the  lads  and  lassies  must 
part  in  this  warl' — to  meet  again,  as  my  ain  mither 
taught  me,  in  the  warl'  where  there'll  be  nae 
partin'!" 

Adam  paused  again.  The  room  was  silent,  save 
for  the  convulsive  sobs  that  told  of  heart-break  too 
crushing  for  words. 

"Mither,  I  hae  but  little  mair  to  tell  thee,  but  I 
ask  thee  to  think  on't  well.  Ye  ken  that  Adam  went 
away  three  years  syne  to  Australia,  an'  that  we  hae' 
na  heard  frae  him  for  ane  year  noo.  He  was  strug- 
glin*  then,  but  he  hoped  for  a  brighter  time,  an' 
maybe  he  hae  gane  farther  to  seek  his  fortune.  I 
canna  think  Adam  would  forget  his  auld  father  an' 
his  guid  mither,  an'  nae  doot  he  means  to  write  when 
he  has  a  guid  word  to  send  us. 

"'Noo,  mither,"  Adam  went  on,  after  a  short  rest, 
"when  the  minister  was  here  yestreen,  he  talked  to 
me  aboot  the  Promised  Land,  aboot  the  Land  o' 
Canaan,  to  which  the  Laird  would  lead  those  who 
were  true  to  Him,  as  He  led  the  Israelites  of  auld. 


12  ADAM     CLARKE 

An'  I  thought  to  myser  why  should  there  nae  be  a 
Land  o'  Canaan  here,  as  there  was  for  the  Israelites 
— why  should  my  bairns  be  obleeged  to  live  an*  toil 
as  I  hae  done,  without  any  hope  in  this  warl'  but  to 
slave  on  for  the  Queen,  an'  the  nobles,  and  the  gen 
tle-folks,  who  dance  while  we  are  sweatin'  to  pay 
the  piper. 

"Mither,''  added  the  dying  man,  as  he  turned  his 
eyes  earnestly  towards  her,  "I  think  there  is  a  Land 
o'  Canaan  here.  They  say  that  beyond  the  sea  there 
is  a  free  land,  where  ev'ry  true  man  has  a  fair  chance 
in  life ;  where  there  is  no  king,  or  dukes,  or  gentle 
folks  to  suck  the  life-blood  out  o'  Adam  Clarke,  and 
to  leave  him  to  dee  in  poverty  when  he  is  sucked 
dry,  an'  his  hairs  are  gray;  where  a'  men  are  free 
an'  independent,  an'  where  work  is  sae  plentiful  an' 
sae  profitable  that  no  man  has,  in  the  language  of 
our  own  Bobbie  Burns,  'to  beg  a  brother  of  the  earth 
to  give  him  leave  to  toil.'  Mither,  when  I  am  deed, 
and  quietly  laid  away  in  the  kirkyard,  I  want  thee 
an'  the  bairns  to  go  to  that  Land  o'  Canaan.  The 
insurance  will,  ye  ken,  pay  ye  fifty  pounds  upon  my 
death.  Bury  me  decently,  sell  the  little  belongin's, 
an'  enough  will  be  left  to  take  ye  a'  to  America. 
Mither,  I  charge  thee — " 

Adam  Clarke  had  raised  his  head  slightly,  forget 
ting  his  weakness  in  the  earnestness  with  which  he 
spoke.  The  exertion  was  too  much  for  him.  His 
head  sank  back  on  the  pillow.  Twice  or  thrice  he 
breathed  heavily.  Then  all  became  quiet. 

"Father,  speak!"  cried  the  terrified  wife.  "Oh, 
father!  father!"  cried  the  children.  But  no  answer 
came  to  their  agony. 


THE    DEATH     OF     ADAM     CLARKE  1 3 

Adam  Clarke  was  dead. 

The  clock  in  the  tower  of  the  Mechanics'  In 
stitute  tolled  the  hour  of  twelve. 


On  the  Monday  following  the  death  of  Adam 
Clarke  there  were  two  funerals  in  Somerton.  The 
remains  of  young  Ildershaw,  heir  to  the  manor  of 
Old  Somerton,  had  arrived  from  Germany,  where 
the  young  man,  after  disgracing  his  family  and  the 
army,  in  which  he  held  a  commission,  by  his  career 
as  a  prodigal  and  debauchee,  had  come  to  an  un 
timely,  or  perhaps  a  timely  end.  The  rumor  was 
that  he  had  fallen  victim  to  the  vengeance  of  an  in 
jured  husband,  but  the  influence  of  his  relatives  and 
regard  for  the  honor  of  the  army  hushed  inquiry, 
and  his  body  was  brought  home  in  an  air-tight 
casket  to  repose  among  the  esquire  lords  of  Old 
Somerton.  The  squires  of  the  neighborhood  mus 
tered  in  gallant  array,  and  the  church  bells  rang  out 
in  doleful  knell,  as  the  mortal  part  of  Major  Ilder 
shaw  was  borne  to  the  sacred  ground,  followed  to 
the  family  vault  by  the  rector  of  St.  Egbert's  and  a 
long  cavalcade  of  gentry.  For  the  villain  and  rake 
had  nominally  been  a  member  of  the  established 
religion  of  England,  and  his  bones  were  therefore 
entitled  to  rest  in  the  churchyard  of  the  parish. 

Not  so  Adam  Clarke.  It  is  true  that  throughout 
a  long  life  of  weary  and  ill-paid  toil  he  had  done 
his  duty  to  God,  to  his  family,  and  to  his  fellow-men. 
But  Adam  Clarke  was  a  dissenter;  and  the  law  of 


14  ADAM     CLARKE 

England  said,  and  says  to-day,  that  the  body  of  the 
dissenter  is  unworthy  of  admittance  within  the  en 
closure  consecrated  to  the  dead  of  the  Church  by  law 
established. 

As  the  solemn  and  imposing  pageant  which  ac 
companied  the  remains  of  the  squire's  son  entered 
the  churchyard  gate,  another  and  humbler  proces 
sion  passed  on  towards  the  obscure  burying-place 
of  the  non-conformists.  A  single  carriage  followed 
the  hearse,  and  behind  walked  the  sons  and  a  few 
friends  of  the  dead.  In  the  carriage  was  the  clergy 
man,  Mrs.  Clarke  and  her  daughters.  The  church 
bells  clanged  on  for  Ildershaw,  as  they  had  clanged 
the  burial  knell  of  his  ancestors  for  many  a  genera 
tion  before,  and  with  much  ceremony  and  the  usual 
prayers  the  costly  casket  was  lowered  into  the  tomb. 
About  the  same  time  the  dissenting  preacher  uttered 
words  of  comfort  and  hope  over  the  cheap  wooden 
coffin  of  Adam  Clarke,  and  the  falling  clay,  as  it 
rattled  on  the  narrow  resting-place  of  the  departed, 
told  that  dust  had  returned  to  dust.  But  though 
denied  a  grave  in  consecrated  ground,  who  will  say 
that  Adam  Clarke  will  be  rejected  in  the  day  when 
all  wrongs  shall  be  righted  and  all  hearts  uncov 
ered  ?  In  that  Day,  it  is  certain,  the  statutes  of  men 
will  not  avail  to  decide  as  to  the  worthy  and  un 
worthy. 


CHAPTER  II. 

TO   THE  PROMISED    LAND. 

"AND  they  who  sail  yon  fading  bark 

Have  turned  a  yearning  eye 
To  the  fair  land  which  seems  a  line 
Between  the  sea  and  sky; 

"And  as  that  land  blends  with  the  sea, 

Like  clouds  in  sunset  light, 
A  soft,  low  voice  breathes  on  the  wind — 
'My  native  land — good-night !'  " 

—Hugh  Peters. 

THE  sale  of  the  furniture  brought  more  than 
enough  to  meet  the  funeral  charges,  and  Mrs.  Clarke 
had  remaining  the  fifty  pounds  from  the  Working- 
men's  Association,  of  which  her  husband  had  been 
a  member.  Always  a  dutiful  and  obedient  wife,  she 
was  determined  to  comply  with  Adam's  dying  in 
junction,  which  indeed  was  in  accord  with  her  own 
inclinations.  Emily  Clarke  knew  little  of  the  con 
dition  of  affairs  in  the  vast  territory  embraced  in 
that  word  "America."  Her  life  had  been  spent  in  an 
industrious  but  quiet  corner  of  the  "tight  little  isl 
and,"  and  while  she  was  as  well  informed  as  the 
women  in  general  of  her  class,  her  ideas  were  mold 
ed  and  straitened  by  her  surroundings.  She  had 

15 


l6  ADAM     CLARKE 

heard  there  were  no  lords  in  America,  and  no 
squires,  and  no  Queen.  Her  father,  and  his  fathers 
before  him,  had  toiled  for  unnumbered  ages  to  sup 
port  the  squire  and  the  lords,  the  Queens  and  the 
Kings.  Ergo,  she  thought  in  her  simple  mind,  a 
country  without  these  crowned  and  titled  drones 
must  be  a  good  country  for  the  poor.  It  was  a  nat 
ural  inference.  She  little  thought — as  she  was  yet 
to  learn — that  human  character  is  much  the  same 
everywhere,  that  accumulated  wealth  in  a  republic 
can  be  as  despotic,  as  grinding,  as  merciless  and 
inhuman  as  in  a  monarchy — that,  indeed,  it  has  less 
to  fear  in  its  cruelty  and  despotism,  sustained  by 
subtle  interpretations  of  law,  and  shielded  by  cor 
rupt  officialism,  than  if  it  had  to  deal  with  a  Czar 
or  a  Kaiser,  able  with  a  stroke  of  his  pen  or  a  flour 
ish  of  his  sword  to  do  rude  justice  to  the  many  by 
one  wholesome,  if  tyrannical  blow  at  the  privileged 
few.  Never  having  studied  history,  she  did  not 
know  that  despotic  thrones  owed  their  origin,  in 
morexthan  one  instance,  to  popular  impatience  of  the 
intolerable  oppression  exercised  by  wealth  and  priv 
ilege  ;  that  the  Roman  republic  became  an  empire  be 
cause  the  Roman  multitude  preferred  Caesar  to  the 
Senate;  and  that  monopolized  wealth  had  thrown 
up  barricades  to  every  step  in  the  onward  march  of 
mankind,  from  the  revolt  of  the  Gracchi  to  the 
American  Revolution.  She  did  not  know  that  in  the 
great  struggle  for  American  freedom,  the  disloy 
alty  of  rich  men  in  the  colonies  was  as  great  an 
obstacle  to  independence  as  the  hired  armies  of  King 


TO     THE     PROMISED     LAND  IJ 

George,*  and  that  the  monopoly  of  wealth  to-day 
is  the  great  and  menacing  obstacle  to  the  progress 
of  the  nation  towards  true  liberty  and  real  equality. 
Mrs.  Clarke  knew  nothing  of  this.  She  was  obedi 
ent  to  the  wishes  of  her  departed  husband,  and  at 
tracted,  as  multitudes  have  been  attracted,  to  the 
New  World  without  Queen  or  King. 


Several  weeks  were  consumed  in  preparation  for 
the  journey  to  America.  The  manager  of  the  Great 
Western  Engine  Works  was  reluctant  to  part  with 
two  such  promising  apprentices  as  Robert  and  Alex 
ander,  but  he  was  humane  enough  to  see  that  it 
would  be  harsh  to  insist  upon  a  separation  from  their 
widowed  parent,  and  he  granted  a  release  of  their 
indentures.  A  modest  memorial  was  erected  to 
Adam  Clarke,  and  Allie  planted  on  the  grave  with 
her  own  hands  flowers  of  the  kind  her  father  had 
loved  to  cultivate  in  the  little  plot  of  ground  under 
their  cottage  window.  Allie  noticed  one  morning 
a  nest  in  the  sprouting  grass,  near  the  stone  at  the 
head  of  the  grave.  She  told  her  mother  of  it. 

"It  is  a  good  sign,"  said  Mrs.  Clarke.  "No  doubt 
it's  a  laverock,  as  your  father  called  the  lark,  and  it 
would  be  bad  luck  to  disturb  it." 

"How  glad  I  am  the  lark  is  there!"  cried  Allie; 

*  "Fortune  is  the  idol  in  every  State.  All  who  are  well  off  are 
corrupt  at  heart,  and  so  athirst  for  peace  that  this  would  be  wel 
comed  at  any  price." — Letters  of  Beaumarchais  to  Louis  XVI. 
and  the  Count  de  Vergennes,  in  1779. 


l8  ADAM     CLARKE 

"do  you  think,  mamma,  when  it  mounts  up  to  the 
sky  in  the  morning,  that  father  hears  it  sing?" 

A  moistened  eye  was  the  only  answer.  But  Allie 
was  careful  not  to  disturb  the  nest  of  the  little  song 
ster. 

The  day  came  to  take  the  train  from  Somerton 
to  Liverpool.  Soon  after  dawn,  that  they  might  not 
be  disturbed  in  their  pious  pilgrimage,  the  family 
paid  a  final  visit  to  the  grave.  As  they  entered  the 
gate  the  lark  rose  from  its  nest  and  mounted  high 
towards  the  blue  ether,  tipped  with  the  ruby  glow  of 
sunrise.  There  aloft  it  poured  forth  its  melodious 
notes,  and  the  mother  and  children  accepted  the  in 
cident  as  a  favorable  augury  for  their  future  beyond 
the  sea. 


The  Persia,  of  the  International  Line,  was  up  to 
the  average  of  steamships  that  carry  emigrants  from 
Great  Britain  to  New  York.  In  wooden  bunks  be- 
tween-decks  the  little  family  found  shelter.  It  was 
not  a  pleasant  change  from  their  neat  and  comfort 
able  cottage.  But  they  had  expected  some  hardship 
in  the  passage,  and  bore  with  patience  the  privations 
and  annoyances  to  which  they  were  subject.  Ac 
cording  to  the  rules  of  the  ship,  the  females  occu 
pied  a  compartment  separate  from  the  males,  and  it 
was  only  in  the  daylight  that  the  mother  and  daugh 
ters  could  be  with  the  sons  on  deck.  The  greatest 
trial  of  the  voyage  was  the  inevitable  association 
with  a  group  of  filthy  passengers  from  Hungary 
and  Galicia.  They  were  bound,  it  was  said,  for 


TO     THE    PROMISED     LAND  IQ 

anthracite  mines  in  Pennsylvania,  in  which  there 
had  been  a  strike.  Human  in  form  only,  their  habits 
and  appearance  were  disgusting  in  the  extreme. 
What  with  visible  vermin  and  encrusted  dirt,  cleanli 
ness  seemed  repugnant  to  their  natures,  and  only  the 
threats  of  the  ship's  officers  could  induce  them  to 
make  a  pretext  of  tidiness  in  their  berths.  The 
women  were  not  less  offensive  than  the  men,  to 
whom  they  showed  a  slavish  submission.  The  Hun 
garians  had  contrived  to  bring  on  board  a  quantity 
of  intoxicating  liquor,  of  which  the  women  had 
charge,  as  their  quarters  were  less  likely  to  be  sub 
jected  to  search,  in  the  event  of  suspicion  by  the 
crew.  It  was  the  lot  of  Allie  and  her  mother  to 
occupy  a  bunk  near  one  of  these  women,  and  al 
though  the  language  of  the  Hungarians  was  for 
tunately  unintelligible  to  them,  the  evidence  of  de 
gradation  and  neglect,  intensified  by  drunkenness, 
was  revolting.  Mrs.  Clarke  and  Allie  spent  as  much 
time  as  possible  on  deck,  in  order  to  avoid  an  asso 
ciation  that  horrified  their  every  instinct. 

One  evening,  on  deck,  occurred  an  incident,  not 
in  itself  of  a  very  serious  character,  but  which  proved 
of  fateful  import  to  the  future  of  the  Clarkes.  The 
Hungarians  appeared  to  be  under  the  direction  of 
one  Michael  Horgwin,  himself  a  Hungarian,  but 
who  had  been  in  the  United  States,  and  whose  busi 
ness  in  Europe  and  on  the  Atlantic  was  in  the  inter 
est  of  a  prominent  mine-owner  in  the  anthracite 
coal  regions  of  Pennsylvania,  to  gather  and  conduct 
the  horde  then  on  their  way  to  the  mines.  Horgwin 
was  short  and  brawny,  with  a  massive  jaw,  a  retreat- 


2O  ,         ADAM     CLARKE 

ing  forehead,  and  beady  black  eyes,  that  expressed 
the  cunning  of  a  rat  and  the  cruelty  of  a  rattlesnake. 
He  was  part  Slav,  part  Magyar,  and  combined  the 
hot  passions  of  the  former  with  the  viler  character 
istics  of  the  low-born  Hun ;  and  in  no  country  in  the 
world,  short  of  the  Australian  bush  and  Central 
Africa,  is  more  abject  degradation  to  be  found  than 
among  the  remote  and  isolated  peasantry  of  Hun 
gary. 

It  happened  that  the  females  in  the  berth  next  to 
Allie  and  Mrs.  Clarke  were  relatives  of  Horgwin. 
They  had  several  times  attempted  to  strike  up  by 
signs  an  acquaintance  with  the  Clarkes,  and  on  one 
occasion  tendered  to  Mrs.  Clarke  a  bottle  of  whiskey 
which  had  just  been  passing  the  round  among  them. 
The  Clarkes,  not  wishing  to  give  offence  to  creatures 
whom  they  could  not  avoid,  and  who  might  be 
troublesome,  simply  pretended  not  to  notice  the  ad 
vances. 

On  the  evening  in  question  Allie  and  her  mother 
were  watching  the  horizon,  and  wondering  how 
many  days  more  would  elapse  before  the  arrival  in 
America.  The  other  members  of  the  family  had  re 
tired  below.  Some  one  tapped  Allie  on  the  shoulder. 
She  turned.  There  grinned  the  ogre  visage  of 
Michael  Horgwin. 

The  Hungarian  had  been  long  enough  in  America 
to  speak  English  in  a  broken  way.  He  had  been 
drinking,  arid  was  evidently  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  be 
impudently  familiar. 

"Nice  e-ven-ing,  miss,"  he  stuttered;  "this  my 
wife,"  he  added,  indicating  a  rawboned  female  of 


TO     THE     PROMISED     LAND  21 

middle  age,  with  a  tanned  leather  face,  a  red  hand 
kerchief  around  her  head,  and  a  pair  of  cowhide 
boots  on  her  feet.  The  female  also  had  been  drink 
ing. 

Allie  clung  to  her  mother,  and  said  not  a  word ; 
but  her  expression  of  terror  and  loathing  could  be 
interpreted  even  by  the  half -drunken  Hungarian. 
Accustomed  to  have  his  own  way  among  his  own 
people,  the  child's  attitude  of  silent  repulsion  pro 
voked  him.  But  few  persons  were  about,  for  the 
evening  was  cool,  and  Horgwin,  emboldened  by  the 
vile  liquor  in  which  he  was  steeped,  resolved  to 
humble  the  pretty  English  girl. 

"Let  me  kees  the  leetle  miss,"  he  said,  leaning 
towards  Allie,  and  putting  his  arm  around  her,  so 
as  to  imprison  both  elbows  in  his  grasp. 

The  movement  was  so  unexpected  that  Mrs. 
Clarke  was  dazed,  while  Horgwin  bent  low  his  reek 
ing  mouth  to  smother  with  a  kiss  the  shriek  that  was 
bursting  from  Allie's  lips. 

Suddenly  a  step  was  heard;  a  blow  from  a 
clinched  fist  knocked  the  Hungarian  reeling. 

"Take  that,  you  scum,  and  leave  the  girl  alone !" 
exclaimed  a  hearty  English  voice.  "Did  the  fellow 
hurt  thee,  miss?" 

The  honest  face  of  a  Cornish  youth  met  Allie's 
grateful  glance.  He  had  the  dark  hair,  clear  dark 
eyes  and  pale  complexion  of  the  British  Celt.  His 
features  were  clean-cut  and  regular,  his  figure 
slight,  but  his  fist,  still  clinched  for  another  blow, 
if  need  should  be,  at  the  prostrate  half-savage,  now 
sprawling  to  his  feet,  showed  that  the  young  man 


22  ADAM     CLARKE 

had  the  strength  of  a  giant  in  his  muscular  hand 
and  arm. 

Horgwin  got  on  his  legs,  assisted  by  the  female 
he  called  his  wife.  A  livid  spot  on  his  temple  told 
where  the  blow  had  made  its  mark.  He  evidently 
did  not  care  to  court  another  encounter.  His  eyes 
gleamed  with  baffled  rage.  He  ground  his  teeth 
together.  His  appearance  was  that  of  a  hyena  from 
which  its  prey  had  been  seized  by  some  noble  ani 
mal  it  dared  not  to  combat.  He  muttered  Hun 
garian  curses  that  happily  neither  Allie  nor  her 
rescuer  could  understand.  "I-hev-revench  yet,"  he 
hissed,  and  with  a  look  that,  had  it  been  a  dagger, 
would  have  done  murder  on  the  spot,  he  turned  to 
go  below. 

"Barkin'  dogs  never  bite,"  remarked  the  young 
Cornishman,  with  a  laugh. 

"We  thank  thee  deeply,"  said  Mrs.  Clarke,  earn 
estly.  "The  look  of  that  wretch  is  enough  to  make 
me  shudder;  and  to  think  of  his  daring  to  kiss 
Allie!  Again  I  thank  thee,"  added  the  mother — 
and  her  tones  were  as  warm  as  her  words  were 
heartfelt;  for  among  the  simple  folk  of  the  west 
of  England,  the  heart  says  "thee,"  and  "you"  is 
spoken  from  the  lips  alone. 

Herbert  Prynne  was  the  name  of  the  young 
Cornishman.  Born  in  the  county  of  Cornwall,  near 
where  the  mighty  walls  of  Castle  Treryn  tell  what 
the  ancient  Britons  were  in  the  days  before  the 
Saxon  overwhelmed  the  land,  Herbert's  parents 
had,  in  his  early  childhood,  removed  to  Pontypool, 
in  Monmouthshire.  There  Herbert,  when  about 


TO     THE     PROMISED     LAND  2$ 

ten  years  of  age,  began  life  as  "trapper"  in  a  coal 
mine,  for  such  the  boys  were  called  to  whom  was 
entrusted  the  care  of  an  air-door,  used  to  turn  the 
air  into  the  proper  channel.  But  let  him  tell  his] 
own  story  as  he  related  it  on  the  following  day  to 
the  Clarkes,  while  the  bright  rays  of  a  June  sun 
made  a  mirror  of  the  broad  Atlantic,  and  the  great 
ship  speeded  on  through  the  calm  waters  towards 
the  promised  land  of  America. 

"At  fourteen,"  said  Herbert,  "I  was  promoted 
from  'trapper'  to  driver,  and  had  charge  of  a  horse 
and  train  on  the  horse-road.  At  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning  we  boys  were  lowered  into  the  mine, 
the  cage  going  down  at  the  rate  of  nearly  half  a 
mile  a  minute  till  the  bottom  was  reached.  Then 
I  made  the  best  of  my  way  to  the  overman's  cabin, 
to  show  my  face  and  get  my  share  of  candles  for 
the  day.  Then  I  brought  my  horse  from  its  stall 
in  a  long,  dark  gallery  called  the  stable,  and  after 
it  had  drunk  at  the  trough,  or  refused  to,  I  would 
follow  the  horse,  gripping  his  tail,  to  steady  myself, 
with  one  hand,  while  I  carried  a  light,  which  only 
deepened  the  darkness,  in  the  other.  The  animal, 
with  its  head  held  straight  out  to  keep  from  bump 
ing  its  skull  against  the  roof,  which  was  not  so  much 
higher  than  its  shoulders,  would  pursue  its  way 
along  the  main  wagon-road  drift  to  the  siding  where 
T  had  left  the  cars  unhitched  on  the  evening  before. 
The  drift  was  about  a  mile  and  a  half  long,  and 
the  railroad  single,  on  account  of  the  narrowness  of 
the  road.  There,  in  the  dreary  blackness,  I  wou!d 
have  to  wait,  sometimes  many  minutes,  for  a  train 


24  ADAM     CLARKE 

to  pass.  And,  oh,  it  was  lonesome!"  sighed  Her 
bert.  "I  would  think  of  all  the  ghost  stories  I  had 
ever  heard,  of  the  miners  who  had  perished  per 
haps  near  the  very  spot  where  I  was  waiting.  A 
low  mournful  wail  would  sound  in  the  distance.  A 
noise  like  the  rumble  of  thunder  would  break  on 
my  ears,  and  then  the  creep — the  slow-grinding 
movement  of  the  mass  of  shale  above — would  make 
the  very  marrow  in  my  bones  to  freeze.  But  at 
last  I  got  accustomed  to  it,  although  I  never  could 
get  accustomed  to  the  kicks  and  curses  that  the 
'putters'  used  to  give  me  when  I  happened  to  be  a 
little  late  in  getting  to  the  station  with  the  empty 
train.  At  sixteen  I  became  a  'putter'  myself,  work 
ing  the  wagons  of  coal  between  the  hewer,  or  mirier, 
and  the  horse-road.  And  now  I  am  twenty.  I 
heard  that  in  America  miners  are  well  treated,  and 
have  good  wages  and  easy  work,  so,  having  saved 
enough  money  for  my  passage,  I  just  told  my  old 
father  and  mother  I  would  take  a  journey  across  the 
ocean,  and  see  what  a  strong  and  expert  young  Cor- 
nishman  can  do  over  there." 

Herbert  was  a  young  man  of  more  than  usual 
energy  and  promise.  In  his  spare  hours,  after  com 
ing  up  from  the  mine  about  five  o'clock  in  the  even 
ing,  he  learned  to  read  and  write,  and  his  language 
was  singularly  pure  from  the  dialectic  peculiarities 
which  make  the  natives  of  some  British  shires  so 
hard  to  understand. 

The  Cornish  youth  soon  became  the  favored  asso 
ciate  of  Mary  Clarke.  His  timely  championship 
of  Allie  won  for  him  the  good-will  and  gratitude 


TO     THE     PROMISED     LAND  25 

of  all  the  family;  but  Mary  in  particular  smiled 
upon  the  bold  and  stalwart  miner.  First  she  ad 
mired,  then  by  a  transition  easy  in  a  maiden's  na 
ture,  she  learned  to  love  him.  Mrs.  Clarke  saw  the 
growth  of  affection  between  the  pair;  but  she  had 
no  reason  to  disapprove  it.  It  might  be  for  the  few 
remaining  days  of  the  voyage  only ;  but  if  the  at 
tachment  should  be  permanent,  she  could  desire  no 
better  husband  for  her  daughter  than  Herbert 
Prynne.  Her  woman's  intuition  detected  the  sterl 
ing  qualities  which  a  man  would  have  learned  and 
acknowledged  only  after  personal  experience. 

They  were  two  days  from  Sandy  Hook.  The 
weather  was  mild,  the  ocean  smooth,  and  the  vessel 
making  excellent  headway.  It  was  the  hour  of  sun 
set.  Sky  and  sea  revelled  in  every  color  of  the 
rainbow,  and  the  waves,  as  they  broke  and  surged 
and  dashed  in  snow-white  spray  about  the  steam 
ship's  prow,  seemed  to  murmur  of  hope,  of  happi 
ness,  of  joy  and  plenty,  in  the  world  they  were  fast 
approaching. 

The  two  lovers — for  they  were  lovers  now — 
gazed  in  silence  at  the  entrancing  picture.  Herbert 
broke  the  spell,  as  his  arm  crept  around  Mary's 
waist — a  liberty  which  he  first  excused  on  the  plea 
of  protecting  her  from  the  rolling  of  the  ship,  but 
for  which  there  was  no  such  excuse  that  evening. 

"Mary,"  said  Herbert,  "I'll  feel  very  lonesome 
going  to  that  place — Scranton,  I  think  they  call  it — 
without  kith  or  kin,  or  any  one  to  call  a  friend." 

"I'm  afraid  thee  will,"  answered  Mary,  faintly, 
as  her  pulse  began  to  beat  at  a  rate  that  might,  under 


26  ADAM     CLARKE 

ordinary  circumstances,  have  indicated  a  touch  of 
fever.  For  Mary  felt  what  was  coming  and  was 
not  altogether  prepared. 

"Now,  Mary  dear,"  went  on  Herbert,  with  a  tre 
pidation  very  different  from  the  courage  and  de 
cision  he  had  shown  in  confronting  the  Hungarian, 
"dost  thee  think  thee  would  like  to  go  to  Scranton, 
too?" 

Herbert  was  so  paralyzed  at  the  thought  of  his 
own  impudence  in. asking  the  question  that  he  might 
have  fallen  but  for  being  anchored  to  Mary  by  the 
arm  he  had  put  around  her.  Not  daring  to  look  in 
her  face,  but  gazing  straight  down  over  the  bul 
warks,  as  if  he  expected,  like  another  Jonah,  to  see 
a  whale  waiting  to  swallow  him,  he  listened  for  a 
response. 

"What  use  would  I  be  in  that  place — Scranton, 
thee  calls  it?"  answered  Mary,  demurely. 

This  was  not  exactly  what  Herbert  expected.  He 
had  anticipated  something  like  a  direct  reply  to  the 
question  which  he  had  indirectly  asked.  But  instead 
he  had  been  met  with  a  parry.  It  took  him  a  mom 
ent  to  summon  his  wits. 

"I — Mary  dear — I  would  take  care  of  thee,"  he 
stammered. 

"Thee,  Herbert!  I  am  going  to  America  to  take 
care  of  myself  and  my  mother." 

"Oh,  Mary  dear,  listen  to  me,"  exclaimed  Her 
bert — made  eloquent  by  desperation,  and  throwing 
aside  reserve,  "thee  knows  what  I  mean.  Thee 
knows  that  I  love  thee.  Thee  knows  that  I  can  take 
care  of  thee,  and  of  thy  mother,  too,  and  Allie,  if 


TO     THE     PROMISED     LAND  2/ 

she  wishes  to  come"  (the  mention  of  Allie  being  a 
shrewd  stroke  on  Herbert's  part,  which  he  knew 
would  have  its  effect  on  Mary).  "I  have  worked 
and  toiled  from  childhood,  Mary,  in  the  deep,  dark 
mine  at  Pontypool,  and  thy  father  worked  and  toiled 
all  his  long  life,  so  thee  hast  told  me,  in  the  shipyards 
and  the  boiler  shops.  And  I  might  have  kept  on 
as  he  did,  and  I  would  be  nothing  more  till  the 
end  of  my  days  than  Herbert  Prynne,  the  miner, 
with  an  insurance  to  bury  me,  and  an  inheritance  of 
poverty  for  those  I  might  leave  behind  me.  It  is  to 
escape  this,  Mary  dear,  I  am  going  to  America. 
They  say  that  in  that  country  the  rich  man  is  no 
better  than  the  poor  man;  that  all  have  an  equal 
chance  in  life,  that  the  workingman  can  live  com 
fortably  on  his  earnings,  and  put  by  enough  to 
educate  his  children,  and  to  be  independent  when 
age  makes  him  unfit  to  work;  that  there  is  no 
tyranny  there,  no  oppression,  no  abuse  of  the  toiler 
by  his  master.  That  is  why  I  am  going  to  America. 
And,  Mary  darling,  I  should  like  to  have  thee  for 
a  companion  in  my  younger  days  and  a  companion 
when  I  am  grown  rich  and  old,  and  have  reaped  the 
reward  of  industry  which  they  say  is  certain  there. 
Thee  knows  I  love  thee,  Mary,  and  I  think  that 
thee  loves  me.  Mary,  wilt  thou  be  my  wife?  Say 
yes,  and  we  will  be  wedded  as  soon  as  we  step 
ashore." 

Herbert  paused.  Mary  did  not  speak.  She  had 
listened  with  a  feeling  of  admiration  and  surprise  to 
Herbert's  eloquent  words.  Her  respect  he  had  won 
long  ago;  her  love  was  just  unfolding.  A  few 


28  ADAM     CLARKE 

minutes  before,  she  might  have  hesitated.  But  his 
earnest,  manly  plea  carried  the  outposts  of  her  heart. 
Her  head  sank  on  his  shoulder,  her  chestnut  hair 
with  silken  touch  caressed  his  cheek,  aglow  with  the 
first  bright  flame  of  youthful  love.  Herbert  raptur 
ously  accepted  the  silent  consent,  and  impressed  a 
passionate  kiss. 

"But  we  must  ask  mother,  Herbert,"  murmured 
Mary. 

"Thy  mother  will  agree,  I  know,"  uttered  Herbert, 
confidentially. 

"I — vill — hev — my — revench."  The  words,  mut 
tered  indistinctly,  like  the  sudden  hiss  of  an  adder  in 
the  grass,  aroused  the  lovers  from  their  dream. 
They  turned  in  time  to  see  the  repulsive  form  of 
Michael  Horgwin  disappearing  down  the  gangway. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    NEW    YORK    SLAVE-MARKET. 

"!T  was  not  like  a  Southern  slave-mart,  before 
the  war,  in  Memphis  or  in  New  Orleans.  Those 
were  kept  clean  and  tidy ;  externally,  similar  to  other 
buildings,  and  not  uncomfortably  crowded  within. 
This  New  York  slave-market  was  known  the  world 
over.  It  was  called  Castle  Garden,  although  it 
looked  more  like  an  immense  cheese-box  than  a 
castle,  and  at  the  time  that  the  Persia  landed  the 
passengers  whose  fortunes  we  have  followed  across 
the  Atlantic,  the  most  tropical  imagination  could 
detect  no  resemblance  to  a  garden. 

A  medley  of  all  nations  from  Northern,  Central 
and  Southern  Europe,  dusky  Asiatics  from  the  Le 
vant,  and  here  and  there  an  Arabian  or  a  Moor, 
thronged  the  filthy  arena,  or  sought  impossible  rest 
on  the  vermin-infested  benches.  Vile  lazzaroni, 
spawned  in  the  purlieus  of  Neapolitan  degradation, 
jostled  with  the  fair  children  of  Scandinavia,  and 
wholesome,  cleanly  Britons  shrank  from  contact 
with  the  swarthy  Portuguese  and  dirt-begrimed 
Hun.  In  the  Southern  slave-house  the  sexes  were 
apart ;  not  so  in  the  New  York  market  for  humanity. 
Delicate  girls,  trained  by  virtuous  mothers,  and 

29 


3O  ADAM     CLARKE 

educated  by  pious  pastors  in  the  way  that  they 
should  walk,  were  compelled  to  endure  the  com 
panionship,  listen  to  the  offensive  talk,  and  tolerate 
the  repulsive  habits  of  the  lowest  of  human  beings, 
as  if  they  were  all,  for  the  time,  members  of  a  house 
hold  in  common.  Men  lay  stretched  on  heaps  of 
bedding,  contaminated,  perhaps,  with  the  seeds  of 
plague,  brought  from  reeking  abodes  of  wretched 
ness  and  uncleanliness,  where  plagues  have  their 
breeding-place.  Modest  mothers  were  obliged  to 
nurse  their  hungry  babes  in  full  view  of  hundreds 
of  the  other  sex,  some  of  whom  took  a  coarse  delight 
in  observing  the  blushes  their  persistent  impudence 
provoked.  Little  ones  cried  for  bread,  and  their 
parents  could  obtain  it  only  at  an  exorbitant  price 
from  privileged  caterers. 

From  a  balcony  above,  a  group  of  men  gazed 
down  on  the  scene  below.  Favoritism,  or  the  pay 
ment  of  a  petty  bribe,  had  obtained  the  privilege  of 
entry,  and  they  were  there  to  make  their  choice  from 
the  human  cargoes  recently  dumped  into  the  market. 

One  smooth-faced,  black-eyed,  and  hair-dyed  in 
dividual,  with  thick,  sensual  lips  and  a  loud  watch- 
chain,  was  well  known  to  the  officials  at  the  Garden 
as  a  "professor  of  massage."  He  came  to  the  emi 
grant  depot  regularly  for  young  girls  to  be  made 
the  victims  of  his  peculiar  school  of  medicine.  His 
neighbors  on  the  avenue  could  generally  tell,  by  the 
shrieks  and  screams  emanating  from  his  "school," 
when  another  slave  had  been  secured.  The  gaze  of 
the  "professor"  rested  approvingly  on  a  yellow- 
haired  and  blue-eyed  daughter  of  Sweden.  She 


THE     NEW     YORK     SLAVE-MARKET  3* 

seemed  to  be  standing  aside,  as  if  she  had  come 
alone.  The  "professor"  preferred  Scandinavians. 
Their  frank,  unsuspicious  nature  makes  them  least 
likely  to  suspect  evil  intent ;  they  are  usually  of  the 
blond  type  of  beauty,  which  is  the  most  popular; 
and  unlike  the  girls  from  Great  Britain  or  Germany, 
they  are  unable  to  make  their  wrongs  readily  known 
through  a  language  in  common  use. 

The  "professor"  disappeared  from  the  balcony. 
A  moment  later  he  was  on  the  ground-floor,  in  con 
fidential  whisper  with  one  of  the  employes. 

"Just  step  upstairs,  Billy,"  the  "professor"  said, 
"and  I  will  point  her  out  to  you.  Friend  of  hers, 
you  know"  (with  a  wink) — "the  usual  racket." 

A  two-dollar  bill  passed  quietly  from  one  palm 
to  the  other.  A  few  minutes  afterwards  the  spider 
and  the  fly  were  together. 

Father  and  mother,  in  your  far-off  tomb  in  dis 
tant  Scandinavia,  could  you  see  your  daughter  now ! 
Could  you  think  of  the  fate  in  store  for  the  babe 
you  coddled  in  infancy,  and  taught  to  pray  at  your 
knee  to  the  God  of  Luther  and  of  Vasa,  whose 
purity  you  guarded  as  the  apple  of  your  eye,  and 
for  whom  you  anticipated  a  future  pure  and  re 
spectable,  if  humble  and  obscure — would  you  not 
strive  to  burst  the  bonds  of  the  grave?  Would  you 
not  call  down  the  curse  of  Heaven  on  a  civilization 
that  permits  and  fosters  such  infamy? 

The  "professor"  and  the  girl,  after  a  brief  con 
versation,  walked  away  together.  Six  months  later 
she  was  an  outcast  in  the  streets  of  New  York. 


32  ADAM     CLARKE 

Another  figure  on  the  balcony,  looking  over  the 
throng  of  immigrants,  was  that  of  a  man  still  young, 
whose  naturally  good  looking  features  were  marred 
by  an  assumed  air  of  importance,  characteristic  of 
the  millionaire  who  possesses  nothing  but  the  "al 
mighty  dollar"  to  commend  him  to  public  esteem. 
He  had  an  authoritative  way,  as  one  accustomed 
to  have  his  commands  slavishly  obeyed,  and  not 
likely  to  brook  any  dissent  from  his  pleasure  on 
the  part  of  those  whom  fortune  compelled  to  submit 
to  his  dictation.  He  wore  plain  clothing;  for  he 
was  rich  enough  to  afford  to  be  unostentatious  in 
this  respect.  His  eye  wandered  hastily  over  the 
crowded  arena  until  it  rested  where  the  Hungarians 
who  had  come  over  on  the  Persia  were  huddled 
together.  It  was  not  an  attractive  group,  but  it 
seemed  to  have  an  attraction  for  the  coal  king  from 
Eastern  Pennsylvania — for  such  he  was.  He  gazed 
at  them,  while  a  look  of  satisfaction  took  the  place 
of  the  scowl  with  which  he  had  regarded  the  Britons, 
Germans  and  Scandinavians. 

The  eyes  of  Michael  Horgwin  met  those  of  the 
mine-owner,  and  the  face  of  the  former  broadened 
with  a  grin  of  recognition. 

The  usual  talisman,  so  potent  in  New  York  official 
circles  of  every  trade,  soon  brought  Horgwin  and 
the  coal  king  together  in  the  side  room  but  just 
before  vacated  by  the  "professor"  and  his  victim. 

"How  many  have  you,  Michael?'  asked  the  coal 
king,  without  any  waste  of  welcome  on  a  being  he 
heartily  despised,  partly  for  the  very  reason  that 
the  Hungarian  answered  his  purposes  so  perfectly. 


THE     NEW     YORK     SLAVE-MARKET  33 

"Ninety-eighta  men  an'  vifty  womans,"  answered 
Horgwin,  in  broken  English. 

"What  will  they  work  for?" 

"Ha!"  replied  Mike,  with  a  grimace,  as  if  pay 
was  a  question  of  the  least  moment  in  the  bargain, 
"anything  you  gif." 

"Very  good!"  said  the  coal  king,  with  emphasis. 
Then,  under  his  breath,  "I'll  have  that  other  gang 
out  of  my  place  before  another  year  is  over.  None 
but  'Hunks'  for  me  hereafter."  And  the  mine  lord 
smiled  a  grim  smile  that  boded  ill  luck  for  some 
body. 

Asa  Craddock  was  of  New  England  birth.  His 
father,  possessed  of  an  easy  competence,  had  paid 
but  little  attention  to  certain  wild  lands  in  Eastern 
Pennsylvania,  that  fell  to  him  from  the  assets  o-f 
a  Philadelphia  merchant  whose  notes  he  had  en 
dorsed.  Asa  was  trained  at  school  and  educated  at 
Harvard,  with  some  idea  of  the  law.  That  is,  he 
graduated  at  Harvard,  being  helped  through  by  a 
convenient  coach  for  whose  services  he  paid  some 
thing  less  than  the  usual  price.  For  Asa's  weakness 
was  his  cupidity.  He  indulged  in  few  vices,  and 
even  in  vice  he  was  penurious.  For  college  learning 
he  had  no  capacity,  and  he  soon  forgot  the  little 
he  had  acquired.  Released  from  the  ties  of  the 
university,  he  returned  home  to  find  his  father  on 
the  brink  of  another  world.  The  old  man  died  in 
the  due  course  of  medicine,  and  Asa  wept  moder 
ately.  He  had  a  sister  who  wept  more.  Asa  made 
his  last  year's  college  suit  answer  the  purpose  of 
mourning;  instead  of  a  silver  coffin-plate  he  used 


34 


ADAM     CLARKE 


one  guaranteed  to  last  a  week  without  corrosion,  and 
he  overcame  his  sister's  preference  for  a  slab  of 
costly  Italian  marble  by  pointing  out  the  more  en 
during  properties  of  American  granite.  There  was 
no  need  of  dividing  the  paternal  estate,  for  the 
mother  had  died  before,  and  the  sister,  whose  soul 
had  been  wrapped  about  her  parents,  now  clung 
with  equal  affection  to  Asa.  He  managed  the  prop 
erty  for  both,  and  that  meant  chiefly  for  himself. 

When  the  sister  died,  Asa  married.  His  wife 
was  an  admirable  woman,  of  the  best  New  England 
type,  and  she  was  gradually  but  surely  bringing  out 
the  better  points  of  her  husband's  character.  So 
far,  however,  she  had  not  brought  about  any  serious 
outward  change  in  the  man  or  his  methods,  save 
for  the  tenderness  which  he  showed  to  the  baby  girl 
that  had  come  to  sweeten  and  brighten  their  lives. 
There  is  no  more  humanizing  influence  than  that 
of  a  little  child. 

Asa  was  not  slow  to  learn  the  value  of  the  Penn 
sylvania  lands.  The  signs  of  coal  were  unmistak 
able,  and  Asa  formed  a  company,  in  which  he  kept 
the  controlling  interest,  to  sink  and  operate  a  mine. 
Ten  years  later  he  was  worth  several  millions  of 
dollars,  all  dug  out  of  the  earth  for  him  by  the 
hundreds  of  hard-toiling  miners  who  did  their  work 
faithfully  for  a  pittance  that  kept  them  above  want, 
and  never  saw  daylight  during  the  long  months  of 
winter,  except  on  Sundays.  For  years  Asa  paid 
fair  wages,  because  he  could  not  help  it.  The 
miners  of  British,  and  chiefly  of  Welsh  extrac 
tion,  were  firmly  combined  to  maintain  earnings 


THE     NEW     YORK     SLAVE-MARKET  35 

at  a  living  rate  for  themselves  and  their  families, 
and  the  coal  king  had  either  to  pay  that  rate  or  to 
lose  the  immense  income  which  he  harvested  from 
the  coal  which  God  created,  and  Asa  owned. 

But  a  new  kind  of  labor  appeared.  The  "Hunks" 
began  to  arrive.  They  were  willing  to  work  at  any 
scale  of  wages,  to  take  anybody's  place;  and  they 
displayed  a  degrading  servility  strangely  foreign  to 
the  manly  self-respect  of  English-speaking  work- 
ingmen.  This  was  Asa's  opportunity.  He  reduced 
wages  as  low  as  he  dared,  and  filled  with  "Hunks" 
the  places  of  those  who  left.  One  of  these  "Hunks," 
Michael  Horgwin,  exhibited  a  craft  and  subserviency 
in  advance  of  his  fellows,  and  him  the  coal  king 
secretly  sent  abroad  to  obtain  a  sufficient  number  of 
"Hunks"  to  take  every  shift  in  the  mine. 

"Get  them  to  the  depot  as  quietly  and  quickly  as 
possible,"  said  Asa  to  Horgwin,  "and  I  will  pay 
their  passage  to  Scranton." 

And  while  hundreds  of  others,  who  had  not  come 
under  any  contract  to  drag  down  American  labor, 
were  required  to  wait,  the  "Hunks"  were  hurried 
through  the  formalities,  and  hastened  to  Jersey  City. 
It  was  not  without  a  sense  of  relief  that  Herbert 
Prynne  saw  them  pass  out,  for  the  muttered  threat 
of  Michael  Horgwin  made  him  more  uneasy  than  he 
cared  to  acknowledge. 


"Get  away  from  there — you  must  not  obstruct 
the  way,  I  tell  you !"  exclaimed  a  Garden  official  at 
the  outer  gate. 


36  ADAM     CLARKE 

"But  I  want  a  chance  to  tell  those  people  that  there 
is  a  strike  at  Fall  River,"  was  the  answer.  "I  have 
been  sent  here  by  the  committee  for  that  purpose." 

The  speaker  was  an  Englishman,  plainly  and  de 
cently  dressed,  with  the  pale,  worn  expression  pe 
culiar  to  the  operatives  in  cotton  mills. 

"You  must  not  loaf  about  here,  I  tell  you!"  was 
the  harsh  reply. 

"But  I  saw  Mr.  Burden,  of  the  Holden  Mills, 
speak  to  you  just  a  while  ago  and  pass  in." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  get  out  ?"  exclaimed  the  now 
thoroughly  enraged  employe,  who  but  a  short  time 
before  had  a  $5  bill  slipped  into  his  pocket  by  that 
very  Mr.  Burden  as  an  inducement  to  keep  the 
vicinity  clear  of  strikers.  "Here,  officer !" 

And  in  a  twinkling  the  man  from  Fall  River  was 
in  the  grasp  of  a  policeman,  and  spinning  at  an  un 
comfortable  rate  towards  the  outskirts  of  the 
grounds. 

Meantime,  Mr.  Burden,  agent  and  chief  owner 
of  the  Holden  Mills,  whose  operatives  were  on  strike 
against  a  reduction  that  meant  an  'average  of  $5.75 
a  week  throughout  the  factory,  was  leisurely  en 
gaged  in  a  side  room,  talking  with  the  heads  of  a 
score  of  families  just  arrived  under  contract 
with  Burden's  representative,  from  Preston,  Lan 
cashire.*  He  was  well  pleased  to  learn  that  they 
were  out  of  funds,  and,  carefully  concealing  the  fact 
of  the  strike,  soon  had  them  on  the  way  to  Fall 

*  The  author  has  seen  in  New  England  originals  of  these  con 
tracts  made  in  direct  violation  of  the  laws  of  the  United  States 
by  tariff-protected  manufacturers. 


THE     NEW     YORK     SLAVE-MARKET  3/ 

River.  As  half  the  strikers  were  already  starving, 
not  having  received  wages  enough  to  save  anything, 
Mr.  Burden  hoped  that,  with  the  aid  of  the  new  ar 
rivals,  the  backbone  of  the  movement  would  be 
broken,  and  the  mills  resume  at  the  reduction.  This 
would  ensure  his  ability  to  purchase  the  magnificent 
Remington  estate  in  Newport,  towards  which  he 
had  for  some  time  cast  longing  eyes. 


But  why  pursue  the  scenes  of  the  New  York 
slave-market?  They  were  not  much  different,  day 
in  and  day  out,  as  the  human  cargoes  arrived. 

The  Clarkes  decided,  before  leaving  the  Garden, 
not  to  remain  in  New  York.  Their  means  were  too 
slender  for  a  distant  journey,  but  work  they  must 
all  seek  immediately,  and  family  ties  must  yield  to 
the  necessities  of  the  occasion. 

It  was  agreed,  after  much  tearful  discussion,  that 
Herbert  Prynne  and  Mary  should  not  get  married 
for  the  present,  and  that  Herbert  should  proceed  to 
Scranton  alone,  and  send  for  his  betrothed  as  soon 
as  he  had  a  fitting  home  prepared  for  her.  Mary 
had  a  tender  parting  .with  her  lover  in  the  railway 
station  at  Jersey  City.  The  young  Cornishman  re 
newed  his  vows  to  the  young  English  girl,  whose 
heart  he  had  completely  won.  Alone,  on  the  crowd 
ed  platform,  they  laid  out  their  plans  for  the  future, 
when  the  home  in  Scranton  should  be  large  enough 
for  mother  and  Martha,  Allie  and  Wallace,  as  well 
as  themselves.  Little  they  knew  what  the  future 


38  ADAM    CLARKE 

had  in  store  for  that  mother  and  Allie.  The  engine 
screeched;  the  brakemen  cried,  "All  aboard!"  and- 
with  a  hasty  and  final  kiss  Herbert  leaped  on  the 
train.  Herbert  gazed  from  the  window,  and  Mary 
strained  her  eyes  until  the  train  disappeared  from 
view.  Then  with  heavy  hearts  the  Clarkes  returned 
to  New  York,  and  sought  rest  at  a  cheap  hotel. 

Robert,  who  was  scanning  the  advertisements  in 
a  newspaper  next  morning,  suddenly  read  aloud : 

"Wanted,  in  the  Hecla  Rolling  Mill,  Pittsburgh, 
Pa.,  puddlers  and  helpers.  Good  wages.  Apply  to 
Room  43,  third  floor,  No.  —  Broadway,  New  York 
City." 

"Mother,  I'll  go  to  Pittsburgh !"  exclaimed  Rob 
ert,  who,  like  the  others,  had  no  idea  of  where 
Pittsburgh  was,  except  that  it  was  evidently  in  the 
same  State  as  Scranton. 

"But,  my  son,  you  have  had  no  experience  in  a 
rolling  mill !"  urged  Mrs.  Clarke. 

"That  don't  matter.  I  can  soon  learn,"  answered 
Robert.  "It  says  Ta/  for  Pennsylvania,  so  it  can't 
be  far  from  where  Herbert  is  going.  I'll  go  to 
Pittsburgh,  mother,  and  earn  good  wages,  and  then 
I'll  send  for  you  and  Allie,  and  Alexander  and  Mar 
tha  and  Wallace — and  Mary,  until  Herbert  wants 
her — and  you  can  all  live  with  me.  Unless  you  are 
willing  that  Alexander  should  go  with  me  now." 

It  took  a  good  deal  of  persuasion  to  induce  Mrs. 
Clarke  to  separate  from  her  two  sons;  but  it  was 
obvious  that  the  family  could  not  remain  together, 
unless  they  wished  to  live  in  the  crowded  city  of 
New  York,  where  every  avenue  of  labor  appeared 


THE     NEW     YORK     SLAVE-MARKET  39 

to  be  thronged  by  the  multitudes  continually  arriv 
ing.  Before  leaving  the  Garden  Mrs.  Clarke  had 
gathered  in  conversation  with  the  families  from 
Lancashire  that  work  in  a  cotton  factory  could  be 
obtained  in  Fall  River.  She  had  never  worked  in 
such  a  factory,  but  she  understood  it  was  not  diffi 
cult  to  learn,  and  she  resolved  to  go  there  with  her 
other  children,  obtain  employment,  and  wait  to  hear 
from  her  sons  in  Pennsylvania. 

Robert  and  Alexander  applied  on  the  following 
day  at  the  number  on  Boadway  indicated  in  the  ad 
vertisement.  They  truthfully  stated  their  lack  of 
experience  in  a  rolling  mill;  but  appearances  and 
their  acquaintance  with  iron  in  the  manufacture  of 
machinery  favored  their  application,  and  the  agent 
advanced  their  passage  to  Pittsburgh.  That  same 
evening  Mrs.  Clarke,  her  daughters  and  young  Wal 
lace  took  the  boat  for  Fall  River, 


CHAPTER   IV. 

SERFS     OF    THE     LOOM. 

FALL  RIVER — the  city  without  homes— the  city 
of  granite  factories,  mill-owners'  mansions  and  bar 
racks  for  the  serfs  of  the  loom.  Gray,  solid  and 
forbidding,  the  big  mills  seem  like  so  many  prisons 
for  the  thousands  obliged  by  training  and  necessity 
to  strain  from  early  sunlight  until  evening  falls, 
in  the  monotonous,  driving,  wearisome  work  of 
weaving.  It  is  one  ceaseless  grind  for  the  bare 
needs  of  existence.  There  is  no  time  among  those 
toilers  for  enjoyment  or  recreation.  The  work  is  so 
confining  and  severe  that  it  needs  the  application 
of  every  nerve,  and  the  hours  outside  the  granite 
walls  are  required  for  rest  to  recuperate  for  the  mor 
row. 

Were  you  ever  in  a  weave-room,  reader  ?  Where 
the  life  and  energy,  the  grace  and  spirit  are  sweated 
out  of  men  and  women,  of  budding  youth — and, 
yes — of  childhood.  At  the  coldest  times  the  tem 
perature  is  kept  at  80  degrees,  and  in  summer  runs 
far  above  that.  The  atmosphere  is  laden  with  dust, 
the  roar  of  the  machinery  deafens  the  ear.  Back  and 
forth  the  shuttles  move  with  lightning-like  rapidity 
across  the  maze  of  threads.  Every  two  or  three 

40 


SERFS     OF     THE     LOOM  41 

minutes  each  shuttle  requires  refilling  with  weft,  or 
"filling-in  thread."  The  weaver  must  fill  the  shut 
tles,  mend  threads  when  they  break,  and  keep  his 
looms  going  at  as  continuous  speed  as  possible ;  for 
every  delay  means  loss  to  him  or  her.  A  cut  of 
cloth  earns  the  weaver  perhaps  19  cents,  and  six  cuts 
a  day  is  doing  well.  The  work  does  not  require  the 
skill  that  long  course  of  training  only  could  achieve. 
Everything  is  sacrificed  to  speed,  for  time  is  money 
to  the  weaver  in  more  than  the  ordinary  meaning. 

Now  and  then  the  flying  shuttle  darts  suddenly 
from  its  groove,  and  perhaps  strikes  the  human 
part  of  the  machine  in  forehead  or  eye.  A  painful 
hurt  may  be  inflicted,  but  the  operative — man,  or 
woman,  or  delicate  girl — cannot  stop  for  tears  or 
pain.  On,  on  goes  the  drive.  The  overseer  and  his 
assistant  are  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  picking 
flaws,  finding  fault,  and  proving  their  devotion  to 
the  mill  proprietor  by  driving  and  annoying  the 
help.  Even  the  noon  hour  is  robbed  of  its  repose, 
and  machinery  is  oiled  and  cleaned  by  women  and 
children  who  ought  to  be  at  their  dinner  tables,  or 
quietly  resting  at  home.  At  length  the  welcome 
whistle  sounds,  and  the  toilers  go  forth  from  the 
great,  hot  factory  to  the  wretched  rows  of  granite, 
wood  or  brick  in  which  they  sleep  and  eat.  These 
habitations  are,  as  a  general  thing,  owned  by  the 
mill  corporations.  There  is  not  a  shred  of  garden, 
not  a  flower,  not  an  exterior  ornament  of  any  kind 
to  relieve  the  severe  plainness  of  the  buildings. 
The  serf  in  the  South  had  his  patch  of  land  that  he 
could  cultivate  in  hours  that  belonged  to  himself. 


42  ADAM     CLARKE 

The  Fall  River  weaver  is  comforted  by  no  such 
recreation.  He  must  work  for  the  mill-owner  all 
day,  and  sleep  all  night  in  the  mill-owner's  barracks, 
to  gain  strength  for  the  mill  on  the  morrow.  Indeed, 
a  garden  would  be  useless,  as  he  would  be  too  tired 
to  cultivate  it. 


On  the  day  that  the  Clarke  family  left  New  York, 
Mr.  Burden,  of  the  Holden  Mills,  had  arrived  in 
Fall  River  with  his  contract  operatives  from  Eng 
land.  The  operatives  who  had  been  on  a  strike 
against  a  reduction  of  two  cents  a  cut  had  mostly 
returned  to  work,  for  times  were  dull,  and  as  a  rule 
established  by  the  manufacturers  prevented  them 
from  getting  employment  in  other  mills  in  that 
vicinity,  they  had  to  take  the  choice  between  starva 
tion,  surrender  or  departure.  A  good  number  chose 
the  last-mentioned  course,  and  started  for  Lawrence 
and  Lowell.  The  news  telegraphed  from  New  York, 
that  Mr.  Burden  had  succeeded  in  starting  the  Lan 
cashire  weavers  for  Fall  River  was  a  finishing  blow 
to  the  strike,  and  the  committee  at  once  declared  that 
all  who  still  remained  out  could  return.  When  Mrs. 
Clarke  and  her  four  children  landed  in  Fall  River, 
therefore,  they  met  with  no  obstruction  in  seeking 
employment  at  the  Holden  Mills,  where  there  were 
still  a  few  empty  looms,  the  new  operatives  not 
being  sufficient  in  number  to  take  all  the  places  left 
vacant  by  those  who  had  departed  to  other  cities, 
and  by  Mr.  Burden  refusing  to  receive  back  the 
more  active  leaders  of  the  strike. 


SERFS    OF     THE     LOOM  43 

It  had  been  decided,  during  the  journey  to  Fall 
River,  that  Martha  and  Mary  should  seek  work, 
leaving  Mrs.  Clarke  to  attend  to  the  household,  and 
allowing  Allie  and  Wallace  to  go  to  school. 

"What  art  thou  crying  for,  darling?"  said  Mrs. 
Clarke  to  Allie,  the  first  evening  after  they  had  got 
settled  in  a  miserable  tenement,  recently  vacated  by 
a  family  of  Canadians. 

Allie  was  sobbing  behind  her  yellow  curls  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

"Oh,  mother,  mother,"  she  cried,  "I  wish — we — 
had"  (sob)  "never — left  Somerton.  We  were  poor 
there,  mother,  but  I  fear  we  will  be  no  better  here." 

"Put  on  a  good  face,  Allie,"  said  the  mother, 
cheerily.  "Don't  cry,  my  little  darling.  Robert  and 
Alexander,  thee  knows,  will  send  for  us  soon,  and 
they  will  earn  wages  enough  for  us  all." 

"Oh,  I  hope  so,  mother,"  said  Allie,  brightening 
a  little,  "for  I  don't  like  this  place.  It  seems  like 
a  great  prison.  You  know  when  father  took  us 
down  on  the  excursion  to  Portland,  and  they  showed 
us  the  big  gray  prison.  These  factories,  mother,  are 
just  like  it.  And  everybody  seems  so  tired  and 
worn-out,  mother ;  and  there's  no  gardens  in  front  of 
the  houses,  like  there  was  in  England.  No  flowers 
like  father  used  to  love  so  dearly."  And  Allie 
sobbed  again  at  the  thought  of  her  parent  gone  be 
fore.  "Oh,  mother,  what  is  that?"  she  cried. 

A  terrible  noise  across  the  entry  was  what  ar 
rested  Allie's  attention.  A  door  burst  open,  and  a 
woman  dashed  into  the  Clarke  tenement,  bearing  in 
her  arms  a  two-year-old  babe. 


44  ADAM     CLARKE 

"My  God !  save  the  child !"  the  woman  cried, 
clasping  the  infant  to  her  breast,  and  turning  a  wild 
look  towards  the  door  from  which  she  had  come. 

In  a  moment  a  young  man  appeared  on  the  Clarke 
threshold.  He  had  a  large  knife  in  one  hand. 
There  was  a  glare  in  his  eyes;  but  it  was  not  that 
of  the  drunkard.  His  pale  face  bore  no  sign  of  dis 
sipation,  yet  madman  he  was,  or  had  been  a  moment 
before. 

His  eyes  rested  on  Mrs.  Clarke.  He  paused. 
Did  a  thought  of  mother  come  into  his  mind,  to 
save  him,  at  that  critical  instant,  from  being  a  mur 
derer  ? 

The  knife  dropped  to  the  floor. 

She  who  had  fled  from  him  read  the  change  as 
by  a  lightning  flash,  and  was  at  his  side  as  quickly. 

"Oh,  Walter,  Walter,  how  could  you  hurt  the 
baby?"  she  sobbed,  with  one  arm  around  his  neck, 
the  other  still  clasping  the  wondering  little  one, 
which,  at  first  astonished  into  silence,  now  smiled 
and  cooed  in  the  face  of  him  who  would  have  slain 
it  but  just  before. 

The  young  man's  features  assumed  a  softer  ex 
pression.  He  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  as  if 
to  clear  away  some  dark  shadow  that  rested  there. 

"I  know  I  was  mad,  Mary,  I  know  it — God  for 
give  me!"  and  with  a  flood  of  manly  tears  he  en 
circled  his  wife — for  such  she  was — in  his  arms. 

"You  may  thank  that  lady  there,"  he  said,  as  he 
impressed  a  kiss  on  the  lips  of  the  baby,  "for  saving 
me — and  you.  When  I  saw  her  the  face  of  mother 
came  back  to  me,  and — and  what  she  taught  me 


SERFS     OF     THE     LOOM  45 

when  I  was  a  little  child,  and — and  I  could  not  be  a 
murderer  even — even  if  we  are  starving.  Let  us 
starve  together,  Millie,"  he  cried,  "and  die  to 
gether!" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Clarke,  for  the  first  time  able 
to  speak ;  "we  have  a  little,  and  you  are  welcome  to 
share  it." 

The  young  man  smiled  grimly.  "Walter  Bassett 
has  never  taken  charity,  ma'am,  thank  you,  and  he 
won't  begin  now." 

"But  you  must  sit  down  with  us,"  spoke  Mrs. 
Clarke,  firmly.  "It  is  not  charity ;  but  only  kindness 
to  neighbors.  I'm  getting  supper  for  my  girls,  and 
you  will  sit  down  with  us." 

The  man  hesitated.  "But,  ma'am,  you  will  only 
be  hurting  yourself  with  the  company.  Do  you 
know  that  I'm  Blacklisted?" 

And  as  he  uttered  the  word,  his  eyes  again  seemed 
to  glare,  and  his  features  to  assume  the  expression 
of  the  hunted  outlaw. 

Mrs.  Clarke  was  puzzled.  What  did  the  word 
mean?  She  had  never  heard  it  in  England.  How 
ever,  there  was  no  time  to  think.  The  young  wom 
an  was  looking  yearningly  at  her,  as  if  life  and  death 
depended  on  the  acceptance  of  her  invitation.  The 
man  still  held  back. 

Just  then  the  baby  saw  the  pitcher  of  milk  on  the 
table.  "Oo — ma — ma — oo — oo,"  cried  the  little  one, 
pointing  with  extended  hand  to  the  milk. 

The  father  could  no  longer  resist.  The  baby's 
appeal  was  too  much  for  him.  Ready  hands  invited 
to  chairs  at  the  simple  board,  and  in  a  moment  the 
baby's  face  was  half  plunged  in  a  saucer  of  milk. 


46  ADAM     CLARKE 

Tears  came  to  the  young  mother's  eyes.  It  was 
the  first  nourishment  her  darling  had  tasted  that 
day. 

"Oo — oo — goo,"  said  the  little  boy,  as  he  smiled 
thanks,  and  his  blue  eyes  beamed  on  Mrs.  Clarke. 

The  father  and  mother  ate  eagerly.  They,  too, 
were  evidently  hungry.  When  their  appetites  had 
been  satisfied,  Walter  Bassett  told  his  story. 

"It's  now  three  years,"  he  said,  "since  Millie  and 
I  came  over  from  Manchester  to  earn  our  living  in 
America.  We  were  married  just  before  we  started, 
and,  as  times  were  dull  just  then  in  the  old  country, 
we  concluded  to  try  our  fortune  here.  We  came  to 
Fall  River.  We  were  considerably  disappointed 
when  we  got  here,  but  decided  to  make  the  best  of 
it,  and  when  our  little  Walter  came  to  keep  us  com 
pany  we  felt  a  good  deal  more  contented.  I  worked 
in  the  Holden  Mills,  and,  what  with  taking  care  of 
Millie  and  the  baby,  and  paying  the  doctor's  bill, 
I  had  no  chance  to  put  anything  ahead.  One  day, 
when  I  comes  home,  about  three  months  ago,  what 
should  I  see  but  Millie  crying.  I  said,  'Tell  me, 
lass,  what  the  matter  is.'  But  for  a  long  time  she 
would  not  tell  me.  At  last  she  let  me  know  that 
young  Holder  Burden,  the  son  of  the  agent  of  the 
mills,  had  spoken  amiss  to  her;  that  he  had  tried 
to  draw  her  attention  two  or  three  times  before  on 
the  street,  and  this  time  he  insulted  her.  I  just 
clapped  on  my  cap,  and  started  for  Burden's  big 
house  on  the  hill.  Millie,  she  put  on  considerably, 
and  didn't  want  me  to  go.  But  go  I  would. 

"  'Where  is  young  Mr.  Burden  ?'  I  asked  at  the 
door. 


SERFS     OF     THE     LOOM  47 

"  'He  is  not  in/  said  the  flunky,  in  a  kind  of  im 
pudent  way. 

"But  I  knew  he  was  in,  for  I  saw  his  face  at  the 
bay-window.  So  I  says,  loud  enough  for  him  to 
hear,  'You  tell  young  Mr.  Burden  that  if  he  ever 
insults  my  wife  again,  I  will  break  every  bone  in 
his  body.'  And  I  meant  it. 

"The  flunky  slammed  the  door  in  my  face,  and 
I  started  for  home.  I  heard  nothing  more  about 
the  matter;  but  I  noticed,  the  next  day  at  the  mill, 
that  the  second  hand  had  a  good  deal  of  fault  to 
find,  and  the  same  the  next  day.  He  seemed  to 
pay  more  attention  to  my  looms,  and  to  discover 
more  flaws  than  in  all  the  rest  of  the  room  together ; 
and  when  pay-day  came  I  found  that  nearly  half  my 
earnings  had  gone  in  fines. 

"It  was  a  gloomy  Saturday,  that  day,  at  home. 
I  had  promised  poor  Millie  a  new  hat — she  had 
gone  without  one  to  pay  the  doctor — but  I  wasn't 
able  to  get  it.  But  Millie  was  always  a  patient  lass, 
and  she  smiled  just  as  sweetly  as  if  I  had  brought 
her  the  hat ;  but  I  was  afraid  that  the  smile  covered 
an  aching  heart,  for  Millie,  though  she  didn't  speak 
about  it  then,  and  I  tried  to  keep  it  from  her,  sus 
pected  that  I  was  being  persecuted  at  the  mill,  and 
suspected  what  it  was  for." 

Bassett  paused  to  repress  the  choking  sensation 
which  rose  in  his  throat.  After  a  moment  he  re 
sumed. 

"Things  kept  growing  worse  and  worse  with  me 
at  the  mill.  For  a  long  time  I  did  not  complain, 
for  I  thought  that  was  what  they  were  trying  to 


48  ADAM     CLARKE 

drive  me  to,  until,  one  Saturday,  after  two  weeks' 
hard  work,  I  found  I  had  coming  to  me  just  four 
dollars!  Three  dollars,  after  their  rent  for  the 
den  they  call  a  company  tenement  had  been  taken 
out,  and  the  fines  deducted.  I  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  'This  is  robbery/  I  said  to  the  clerk  who 
handed  me  the  envelope. 

"The  elder  Mr.  Burden  was  standing  near  the 
desk.  He  turned  sharply  around. 

"  What  did  the  fellow  say?'  he  asked  the  clerk. 

"The  clerk  whispered  a  reply. 

"  'Call  him  back/  Mr.  Burden  ordered,  for  I  had 
moved  on  to  give  place  to  others. 

"  'Let  me  see/  he  said,  'your  name  is  ?'  but  he 
knew  my  name  well  enough. 

"  'Walter  Bassett,  sir/  I  answered. 

"  'Ha — Bassett — yes — I  have  heard  of  you ;  one 
of  the  worst  weavers  in  the  mill.  Well,  Bassett, 
you  need  not  come  back  Monday.' 

"My  anger  was  now  at  the  top.  I  could  no  longer 
keep  in  what  had  been  smouldering  in  my  breast 
for  months.  And,  indeed,  there  was  no  occasion  to. 

"  'This/  I  cried,  'is  for  telling  your  son — ' 

"I  had  no  chance  to  say  more.  An  overseer 
pushed  me  along  and  out  of  the  office,  but  on  the 
street  I  shouted,  loud  enough  for  them  to  hear  in 
side,  'This  is  for  telling  your  son  not  to  insult  my 
wife.' 

"I  came  home  and  laid  the  four  dollars  in  Millie's 
lap,  and  told  her  I  was  through  at  the  mill.  She 
did  not  cry  or  take  on,  good  girl  that  she  is,  but 
just  hugged  me  and  hugged  our  little  Walter,  and 


SERFS     OF     THE     LOOM  49 

said  that  she  was  glad  on't.  But  I  could  see  a  tear 
glisten  in  Millie's  eye,  for  she  was  thinkin'  as  I  was 
thinking  about  the  blacklist." 

Mrs.  Clarke  gave  an  inquiring  look. 

"Then  you  don't  know  what  the  blacklist  is, 
ma'am?  May  you  never  have  to  feel  what  it  is! 
You  must  have  lately  come  to  Fall  River?" 

"Only  yesterday,"  replied  Mrs.  Clarke. 

"With  the  others  from  Preston?"  asked  Bassett. 

"No,  we  are  from  Somerton,  in  Wiltshire,"  re 
plied  Mrs.  Clarke. 

"No  cotton  mills  there,"  remarked  Bassett. 

"No,"  was  the  answer;  "but  we  heard  there  was 
work  here,  and  did  not  have  money  to  go  far,  so 
here  we  came." 

"Well,  ma'am,  the  blacklist  is  well  named,  for 
a  blacker  invention  never  was  devised  for  crushing 
the  spirit  of  independence  out  of  human  beings. 
The  manufacturers  are  all  united  in  this  section, 
and  they  have  an  arrangement  by  which,  if  any 
operative  gives  particular  offence  to  the  managers 
of  any  mill,  and  is  discharged,  or  discharges  himself, 
his  name  is  sent  around  to  the  various  other  mills, 
here,  and  in  Providence,  Lowell,  Lawrence,  and 
other  places,  and  no  overseer  will  even  listen  to 
that  man's  application  for  work.  In  this  way  he 
is  forced  to  leave  the  country,  or,  if  he  has  not 
money  enough  to  carry  him  out,  he  starves,  or  goes 
to  the  poorhouse,  or  is  committed  as  a  vagrant  to 
the  workhouse." 

"But  that  is  shocking!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clarke. 
"I  thought  only  kings  and  queens,  and  lords  and 


5O  ADAM     CLARKE 

squires,  could  be  so  cruel  to  the  poor !    Is  there  no 
law  to  punish  such  cruelty?" 

"Law!— ha!  ha!"  and  Bassett  laughed  a  hard, 
bitter  laugh.  "Law!  Laws  are  not  made  for  the 
rich  in  this  country.  Yes,  there  is  a  law.  I  believe 
they  call  it  a  law  against  conspiracy.  Two  years  ago. 
when  the  strike  occurred  at  the  Grinder  Mills,  owing 
to  the  discharge  of  three  men  who  had  made  a  re 
spectful  request  for  an  increase  of  wages,  the  com 
mittee  of  strikers  sent  circulars  throughout  the  coun 
try,  stating  the  facts,  and  asking  the  public  not  to 
buy  goods  made  from  Grinder  cassimeres.  The 
members  of  the  committee  were  at  once  arrested, 
at  the  instance  of  the  Slater  Club — so  the  manu 
facturers  call  their  organization — on  a  charge  of 
conspiracy.  They  were  indicted,  and  convicted  by 
a  packed  jury — most  of  whom  were  summoned 
directly  by  the  sheriff,  for  the  prosecution  would 
take  no  chances.  They  were  sentenced  each  to  one 
year  in  the  prison.  I  knew  one  of  them  well,  and 
shall  never  forget  the  shriek  his  poor  wife  gave 
when  she  heard  the  sentence.  She  had  a  baby  in 
her  arms  and  a  little  girl  by  the  hand.  The  poor 
woman  had  nothing  to  live  on;  she  took  sick 
worry  in'  about  her  husband,  and  that  same  winter, 
on  Christmas  Eve,  she  died.  I  remember  the  scene 
very  well — indeed,  I  shall  never  forget  it.  She  had 
been  turned  out  of  the  company's  barracks,  barely 
able  to  walk,  and  her  little  girl  had  gone  to  seek 
for  help  from  a  kind  spinner  who  was  still  in  work. 
But  the  help  came  too  late.  Up  there  on  the  hill, 
where  the  rich  folks  live,  the  woman  was  found 


SERFS    OF    THE     LOOM  5 1 

dead  in  the  snow,  with  the  baby  pressed  to  her 
heart.  The  little  one  was  not  yet  dead,  and  it  was 
snuggling  up  to  its  mother  and  trying  to  draw  its 
sustenance  from  the  cold  breast  that  never  more 
would  play  with  its  little  lips,  as  mothers  are  apt 
to  do.  With  one  hand  the  woman  grasped  hold  of 
the  iron  fence  that  surrounded  the  grounds  of  a 
wealthy  manufacturer.  It  is  a  queer-looking  fence, 
made  like  flames  of  fire.  I  wonder  if  it  is  like  the 
fire  that  the  good  Book  says  is  for  them  that  grind 
the  faces  of  the  poor! 

"I  was  one  of  those  that  ran  to  the  place  when  the 
body  was  round.  We  picked  up  the  baby  and  tried 
to  warm  it ;  but  the  little  one  was  too  far  gone.  It 
died  before  we  had  taken  it  many  steps. 

"Oh  yes,  there  is  law — plenty  of  law — for  the 
poor."  And  again  Bassett  laughed  that  hard,  bitter 
laugh. 

"And  the  little  girl?"  asked  Mrs.  Clarke,  as  the 
tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks  at  thought  of  what 
that  other  mother  must  have  suffered. 

"A  friend  of  mine — a  loom-fixer — took  the  poor 
little  thing,  and  promised  to  take  care  of  her.  He 
was  going  to  somewhere  in  Rhode  Island,  and  he 
said  he  would  write  to  me ;  but  I  have  not  heard 
from  him  since. 

"But  I  was  telling  you  that  Millie  and  I  dreaded 
the  blacklist,  and  now  you  see  why  we  dreaded  it ; 
for  it  meant  starvation  to  me,  brought  up  from  child 
hood  in  a  mill,  and  not  able  to  do  anything  else." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  CITY  OF  SMOKE  AND  FLAME. 

SMOKE — smoke  everywhere,  over  river  and  street, 
and  hillside,  and  not  the  light,  vapory  smoke  of 
Old  England,  but  a  thick,  oily,  sulphurous  substance 
that  stuck  to  clothing  and  to  skin,  and  soon  marred 
the  fairest  complexion,  especially  that  of  the 
stranger  who  displayed  his  verdancy  by  mopping 
his  face.  Under  this  thick,  greasy  pall,  which  must 
surely  have  been  similar  to  the  plague  of  Egypt, 
the  darkness  which,  the  Holy  Book  says,  might  be 
felt,  lay,  like  a  vast  forge  of  Vulcan,  the  city  of 
Pittsburgh.  The  tongues  of  flame  which  shot  ever 
and  anon  from  factory  chimneys,  the  frequent  rumble 
as  of  a  distant  cannonade,  the  throb,  throb,  of  en 
gines  that  gave  power  to  the  mighty  machines  of 
industry — all  combined  to  confound  and  impress 
the  newcomer  from  abroad.  Here  and  there,  as  the 
train  flew  into  the  railway  station,  a  glimpse  might 
be  caught  of  the  interior  of  rolling  mill  or  a  fur 
nace.  Half-naked,  sinewy  men,  were  tugging  with 
iron  bars  at  the  broth  of  molten  cinder,  which 
dribbled,  like  water  from  a  spring,  from  the  furnace 
mouth.  Their  faces  shone,  in  the  terrible  glare, 
amid  the  thick  darkness  outside,  as  of  beings  not 
52 


THE     CITY     OF     SMOKE     AND     FLAME  53 

earthly,  and  they  seemed  as  fearless  of  the  ruddy 
broth,  a  drop  of  which  would  have  burned  to  the 
bone,  as  if  they  were  handling  harmless  merchandise 
on  a  wharf  or  street. 

The  train  sped  on,  and  Robert  and  Alexander 
at  length  stepped  on  the  platform  at  Pittsburgh. 
Tired  with  their  ride,  they  sought  a  cheap  lodging- 
house  near  the  station,  in  which  to  spend  the  night, 
and  prepare  their  plans  for  the  morrow.  Their 
heads  and  hearts  were  full.  They  were  too  weary  to 
talk,  and  sleep  soon  closed  their  eyelids. 

The  Hecla  Rolling  Mills  were  situated  on  the 
south  side  of  the  Monongahela  River,  on  the  single 
street  which  courses  along  the  foot  of  Mount  Wash 
ington.  Crouched  beneath  the  shelter  of  the  moun 
tain,  whose  bowels,  at  that  particular  point,  had 
long  ago  been  dug  out,  in  the  search  for  fuel,  now 
exhausted,  and  within  a  few  feet  of  the  river  bank, 
where  cargoes  could  readily  be  landed,  the  Hecla 
Mills  had  important  advantages  in  situation.  The 
railway  sent  loaded  cars  almost  to  the  mouth  of  the 
blasting  furnace — for  the  mills  combined  blasting 
as  well  as  rolling,  under  different  roofs,  but  within 
one  ownership  and  direction.  The  corporation  also 
owned  and  let  the  dwellings  inhabited  by  its  em 
ployes,  and  which  were  so  close  to  the  Mills  that 
there  would  be  little  occasion  for  delay  in  going 
from  one  to  the  other.  The  children  in  the  tene 
ments  could  look  from  the  entries  of  their  homes 
at  the  molten  iron,  as  it  poured  from  the  furnace. 
The  sulphur-laden  fumes  of  the  slag,  or  refuse, 
invaded  their  windows,  and  when  the  helper,  or 


54  ADAM     CLARKE 

laborer,  was  not  revelling  in  a  stream  of  liquid  fire, 
directing  its  flow,  and  controlling  its  volume,  he 
was  reminded  at  his  meals,  and  during  his  sleep, 
by  the  invading  vapors,  that  his  "shift"  was  only 
a  matter  of  time,  and  that,  body  and  soul,  eyes,  nose, 
arms  and  all  the  rest  of  him,  whether  eating  or 
sleeping,  or  trying  to  steal  an  hour's  leisure,  he 
was  the  property  of  the  Hecla  Mills.  He  ate  molten 
iron — in  the  form  of  its  fumes — for  breakfast — he 
dined  on  sulphur  with  his  bacon  and  greens,  and 
supped  on  liquefied  smoke,  mingled  with  his  bread 
and  tea.  The  corporation  was  too  careful  of  his 
character  to  permit  him  to  run  in  debt — at  least 
for  rent — and  thoughtfully  deducted  the  cost  of  his 
two  rooms  from  his  monthly  wage.  They  also  did 
not  demand  his  time  on  Sunday — in  fact,  the  law 
prevented  them  from  doing  so — and  the  laborer  on 
that  day  could  go  to  church  in  a  building  blackened 
all  over  with  the  soot  of  a  quarter  century — but 
still  a  temple  of  God. 

Robert  and  Alexander  found  that  there  was  but 
one  chance  in  the  Rolling  Mills,  the  other  places 
having  been  filled  on  the  day  before;  but  that  a 
laborer  was  wanted  in  the  blast  furnace.  Work  in 
a  blast  furnace  is  of  a  character  that  requires 
strength  and  endurance.  There  is  no  room  there, 
as  in  a'  rolling  mill,  for  a  youth  to  grow  up  to  the 
occupation.  Sinews  are  requisite  from  the  first. 
Therefore,  Robert  chose  the  harder  place  at  the 
furnace,  leaving  to  Alexander  the  opening  as  helper 
in  the  rolling  mill. 

Robert  began  work  at  the  lowest  grade — a  laborer 


THE     CITY    OF     SMOKE     AND    FLAME  55 

engaged  in  shovelling  the  coke,  the  ore  and  the 
limestone  into  the  barrows  in  which  the  materials 
were  hoisted  to  the  furnace  mouth.  The  Hecla 
Blast  Furnace  produced  a  good  quality  of  iron,  and 
used  the  best  native  raw  material  in  its  production. 
Two  grades  of  Lake  Superior  ore — the  red  ore  con 
taining  about  sixty-five  per  cent.,  and  the  brown 
ore  about  fifty-five — were  brought  in  railway  trucks 
to  the  dumping  yard.  The  so-called  red  ore  is  rather 
of  a  purplish  hue,  having  an  attractive  effect,  in 
contrast  with  the  rich  yellowish  brown  of  the  lower 
grade.  For  making  the  better  quality  of  iron  this 
ore  is  far  to  be  preferred  to  that  of  Pennsylvania, 
in  which  the  percentage  of  sulphur  interferes  se 
riously  with  the  value  and  utility  of  the  product. 
Heaped  in  an  opposite  section  of  the  yard  was  refuse 
from  the  rolling  mills,  containing  about  fifty  per 
cent,  of  iron.  This  refuse  had  already  passed  the 
flames  of  the  blast  furnace,  and  been  drawn  as 
molten  cinder  from  the  purifying  fires  of  the  rolling 
mill.  But  the  quantity  of  iron  still  mingled  with  the 
dross  made  it  worth  putting  through  the  furnace 
again.  Coke,  from  Connellsville,  and  limestone  from 
Lawrence  county,  were  also  heaped  up,  waiting  to 
be  raised  and  dropped  with  the  ore  into  the  de 
vouring  mass  of  white,  roaring,  dazzling,  blinding 
flame,  that  surged  and  beat  in  its  narrow  confine, 
like  an  outlet  of  the  bottomless  pit. 

The  furnace  resembled  a  gigantic  upright  boiler, 
or  flue,  rising  about  sixty  feet  into  the  air.  Into 
this  cavity  the  ore,  the  limestone  to  purify  the  ore, 
and  the  coke  to  give  heat  were  fed  from  above.  The 


56  ADAM     CLARKE 

fearful  heat  liquefied  these  substances  almost  in 
stantly,  the  heat  being  kept  intense  by  the  blast 
which  gives  the  name  to  the  process.  This  blast  was 
kept  up  by  an  engine  and  boilers,  which  drove 
heated  air  into  the  furnace.  First  the  air  was 
driven  into  a  receiver  resembling  a  great  drum,  and 
situated  at  an  elevation  of  a  few  feet  directly  be 
hind  the  furnace.  Here  the  blast  was  warmed  to 
some  extent,  and  thence  it  passed  into  ovens,  where 
it  acquired  a  heat  of  from  900  to  1000  degrees. 
Thence  the  hot  blast  was  forced  directly  into  the 
furnace,  in  the  midst  of  the  fuel,  or  slag,  but  above 
the  range  of  the  liquid  iron.  The  passage  of  the 
blast  was  protected  and  directed  by  pipes,  known 
as  tweer,  or  tuyere,  pipes,  containing  water,  and 
thus  able  to  resist  the  heat  of  the  slag,  and  to  guide 
the  blast  into  the  very  vitals  of  the  furnace.  These 
tweer  pipes,  while  able  to  sustain  the  intense  heat 
of  the  fuel  without  melting,  would  at  once  yield 
to  the  liquid  iron,  should  it  ever  splash  them,  and 
in  this  way,  as  will  hereafter  be  seen,  some  of  the 
most  terrible  accidents  are  caused. 

Robert  inherited  the  patient  industry  of  his  father, 
with  the  attractive  features  of  his  mother.  He  ex 
pected  hard  work  when  he  came  to  America,  while, 
at  the  same  time  he  expected  that  here  toil  would 
have  its  reward  not  only  in  comfort,  but  in  com 
petence.  He  was  willing  to  undertake  his  share  of 
the  labor,  believing  that,  in  this  free  republic,  he 
would  also  have  his  share  of  the  profit,  and  that,  as 
an  honest  workingman,  he  would  be  looked  to  and 
regarded  as  the  equal  of  any  man.  He  did  not  get 


THE     CITY     OF     SMOKE     AND     FLAME  5/ 

to  work  until  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  he 
arrived  at  the  furnace.  The  forenoon  he  spent  with 
Alexander  in  obtaining  a  room  in  one  of  the  tene 
ments  adjoining  the  mills. 

"You've  but  lately  come?"  said  Mrs.  Margaret 
Burke,  a  pleasant,  ruddy-faced  Irish  woman,  to 
whom  they  had  been  referred  by  the  foreman. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Robert. 

"It's  the  best  I  can  do  for  ye;  but  it's  poor 
enough/'  said  Mrs.  Burke.  "My  last  lodger  went 
yisterday — God  bless  him,  for  he  was  a  good  young 
man — and  it's  good  luck  for  me  that  the  foreman 
sent  ye  here,  or  the  children  and  I  might  be  lookin' 
for  our  bread  and  the  rent  next  Saturday  week." 

Mrs.  Burke  was  a  type  of  the  good-natured,  easy 
going,  kind-hearted  daughter  of  the  Emerald  Isle, 
with  the  Celtic  disposition  to  be  buoyant  amid  mis 
fortune,  and  to  make  the  best  of  wretched  surround 
ings.  ,  A  cabin  in  the  clear  air  of  her  native  hills 
would  hardly  have  been  more  forbidding,  and  less 
home-like  in  every  way  than  the  tenement  into  which 
she  ushered  the  Clarke  boys.  The  gown  she  wore 
had  evidently  seen  numerous,  if  not  better  days,  and 
yet  it  was  as  neat  as  the  hard  struggle  of  her  exist 
ence  permitted;  her  hands  and  face  were  clean,  in 
fact  they  were  bright  with  the  recent  application  of 
soap  and  water,  and  her  rooms  were  as  tidy  as  they 
possibly  could  be  under  the  circumstances. 

"This  is  my  own  apartment,"  she  said,  with  an 
emphasis  on  the  word  "apartment."  The  guests 
looked  about  them.  The  low  ceiling  was  black 
with  the  smoke  that  invaded  everything;  the  paper 


58  ADAM     CLARKE 

on  the  wall,  originally  yellow,  was  of  a  dingy  brown. 
At  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  stove,  of  a  pattern 
almost  antique,  and  on  it  sat  a  shining  black  pot, 
whose  recesses,  judging  from  the  odor,  contained 
an  Irish  stew.  An  earthenware  teapot  sang  the 
frugal  welcome  of  the  poor.  A  bed  in  one  corner, 
with  a  frayed  quilt,  or  "comforter,"  smoothly  spread, 
three  chairs,  a  plain  wooden  table,  and  a  sacred 
print  of  Christ  and  the  Virgin  completed  the  visible 
furniture.  The  door  of  a  closet  peeping  open  sug 
gested  a  larder. 

It  was  so  obscure  in  the  room,  owing  to  the 
blackness  of  the  ceiling,  and  the  dinginess  of  the 
walls,  that  it  took  a  few  moments  for  the  visitors 
to  become  accustomed  to  the  dim  light. 

"Mother — mother — who  is  that?" 

It  was  a  childish  voice,  and  it  seemed  to  come 
from  under  the  bed-cover. 

Robert  and  his  brother  turned  their  faces  in  that 
direction.  They  could  only  see  a  tangled  mass  of 
raven  locks  on  the  pillow. 

"Mother — is  it  father?"  piped  the  voice.  "Has  he 
come  from  the  stars  yet  ?" 

"Hush,  Chessie,  that's  a  good  girl.  These  are 
gintlemen  come  to  look  at  the  room,"  answered  the 
mother,  with  a  touch  of  huskiness  in  her  voice. 

"Oh — I  thought  it  was  father" — and,  with  a  sigh 
of  disappointment  the  childish  voice  sank  back  into 
silence  and  the  pillow. 

"You  needn't  mind  Chessie,  gintlemen,"  said  Mrs. 
Burke,  trying  to  be  cheerful,  but  unable  altogether  to 
repress  a  tinge  of  sadness.  "It's  her  way.  Ever 


THE     CITY     OF     SMOKE     AND    FLAME  5Q 

since  her  father  died  she's  been  that  way.  She  was 
out  playing  and  saw  him  when  it  happened,  and — and 
— "  Mrs.  Burke  was  applying  her  sleeve  to  her  face, 
but  the  young  men,  while  they  listened  attentively, 
pretended  not  to  see  her — "she  has  never  been  the 
same  girl  since.  You  see  the  furnace  bursted — she 
was  out  there  playing — and  before  her  father  could 
get  out  of  the  way,  it  was  all  around  him,  just  like 
a  pool  of  fire.  And  Chessie  cried,  'Oh,  father — 
father  is  burning!' — and  she  would  have  run  to  him 
if  they  had  not  stopped  her.  And  just  as  he  sank 
down  he  turned  and  saw  Chessie,  and  reached  his 
arms — and — and — it  was  all  over  in  a  minute.  And 
ever  since  Chessie  has  not  been  the  same  girl.  She 
thinks  her  father  is  coming — says  she  knows  he  will 
come."  And  Mrs.  Burke  allowed  the  tears  to  flow 
freely,  for  they  came  too  fast  to  be  mopped  away 
with  her  sleeve. 

The  young  men  had  too  much  respect  for  her  grief 
to  ask  any  questions. 

"You  see,  Chessie  is  not  the  same  girl.  She  is 
sickly  now,  and  her  head  and  back  trouble  her  a 
good  deal — and  the  idea  that  her  father  is  coming 
grows  upon  her.  I  tell  her  that  he  will  wait  for  us 
all  in  Heaven,  but  she  says  he  wouldn't  leave  his 
little  Chessie — and  I'm  afraid  she  is  right — I'm 
afraid  they  will  be  together  before  long,"  added  the 
poor  mother. 

"She  was  her  father's  pet.  He  named  her  'Ches 
ter' — a  queer  name  for  a  girl — after  a  gintleman 
that  was  very  good  to  us  when  we  first  came  from 
the  old  country.  And  he  used  to  take  her  on  his 


60  ADAM     CLARKE 

knee,  and  pet  her,  and  Sundays  he  would  sit  down 
there  by  the  furnace,  and  tell  her  about  Heaven, 
and  how  she  must  be  a  good  girl  to  get  there,  and 
how  the  gates  of  Heaven  were  a  bright  gold,  just 
like  the  fire  when  the  furnace  door  is  open,  and  how 
the  poor  and  rich  would  all  be  equal  there,  before 
the  throne  of  God.  And  of  evenings,  when  he  was 
not  at  the  fire,  Chessie  would  make  him  tell  stories, 
and  explain  to  her  about  the  things,  you  know,  that 
children  ask  about.  One  night  she  said,  pointing 
at  a  big  star:  'Papa,  is  that  a  furnace?'  And  he 
told  her  no — that  was  Heaven — and  that  the  good 
would  'shine  as  stars  for  all  eternity,'  so  the  Good 
Book  says.  'And  will  I  be  like  a  star,  papa?'  she 
asked;  and  he  said  she  would,  if  she  was  always  a 
good  girl.  And  three  days  after  he  was  burned,  and 
Chessie  thinks  now  that  when  he  looked  at  her,  and 
raised  his  hands,  he  was  pointing  to  the  stars. 
Tather  will  come  soon,'  she  often  says,  'and  take 
me  to  the  stars.'  And  of  a  bright,  clear  night  she 
will  stand  outside  and  look  and  look  up  to  the  sky, 
and  ask  me  'which  star  is  father,  mamma/ ' 

They  were  in  the  second,  the  lodgers'  room,  when 
Mrs.  Burke  was  telling  her  pathetic  story.  A  bed, 
covered  with  a  quilt,  a  rickety,  brown  wash-stand, 
basin,  and  broken  pitcher,  comprised  the  furniture  of 
the  room. 

"I  will  charge  you  four  dollars  a  week  each,  for 
the  board  and  room,  gintlemen,"  said  Mrs.  Burke, 
"and  will  do  what  washin'  you  need,  beside." 

The  terms  were  satisfactory,  and  after  a  dinner 
of  Irish  stew  and  tea,  Robert  and  Alexander  went 


THE     CITY     OF     SMOKE     AND     FLAME  6 1 

forth  to  work,  leaving  Mrs.  Burke  with  her  grief 
and  her  stricken  child. 


When  not  engaged  in  loading  the  barrows  with 
coke,  Robert  had  an  occasional  interval  of  rest.  Be 
smeared  with  the  dust  of  the  coke,  he  soon  presented 
a  very  different  appearance  from  the  neat,  trim 
young  Englishman  who  had  arrived  in  Pittsburgh 
the  evening  before.  But  he  was  not  afraid  of  work, 
and  he  had  become  well  acquainted  with  grease  and 
dust  in  the  Great  Western  Engine  Works. 

At  length  the  hour  was  approaching  to  draw  the 
molten  iron.  The  molds  in  the  sand  were  all  pre 
pared;  along  a  channel  to  the  right  of  the  furnace 
the  dull,  red  slag  was  sluggishly  flowing,  like  a 
stream  of  lava,  gradually  hardening  as  it  reached 
a  pan  in  the  open  air  just  outside  the  furnace  struc 
ture.  Soon  after  all  the  laborers  were  summoned 
to  the  furnace.  At  intervals  along  the  channel  pre 
pared  to  conduct  the  molten  iron,  were  laid  small 
slabs,  to  be  used  as  barriers  in  stopping  the  flow 
from  running  into  a  set  of  moulds  already  full ; 
for  the  method  is  a  good  deal  like  irrigation,  there 
being,  at  regular  intervals  a  main  duct,  from  which 
the  lesser  ditches,  or  molds,  branch  out  laterally. 
As  soon  as  a  duct,  and  the  molds  to  which  it  is 
tributary,  are  full  to  the  level,  the  passage  to  that 
duct  is  stopped,  and  the  iron  is  turned  into  the  next 
nearer  the  furnace — and  so  on,  until  all  are  full. 

It  was  a  brilliant  sight,  as  the  door  of  the  furnace 
opened  to  release  the  molten  metal  from  its  prison 


62  ADAM    CLARKE 

of  fire.  Had  it  been  allowed  to  flow  freely,  it  would 
have  come  with  a  rush  and  a  volume  that  would 
have  dealt  disaster  and  perhaps  death  to  the  work 
men.  But  one  strong  man,  the  sweat  pouring  from 
his  temples,  and  his  muscular  arms  strained  to  their 
utmost  exertion,  held  back  the  fiery  flood.  His 
weapon  was  a  bar  of  iron,  with  a  lump  of  slag,  like 
a  great  black  sponge  at  the  end.  With  steady  hand, 
and  quiet  gaze  he  kept  molten  tons  at  bay,  and  regu 
lated  the  flow,  as  one  might  regulate  the  filling  of  a 
basin  of  water. 

The  molten  metal,  as  it  emerged  into  the  rival 
sunlight,  threw  out  a  spray  as  varied  as  the  colors 
of  a  rainbow.  These  danced  and  scintillated,  and 
sparkled  as  if  ruby,  sapphire,  emerald  and  garnet, 
in  miniature,  were  tossed  by  unseen  fairy  fingers. 
The  golden  stream  rolled  on.  One  after  the  other, 
the  molds  were  full.  Then  the  rivulet  began  to 
assume  a  ruddy  tinge.  This  was  the  sign  of  slag, 
the  refuse  of  limestone,  of  coke,  and  of  the  purified 
ore.  This  was  speedily  turned  into  the  channel 
already  used  for  the  passage  of  slag. 

It  was  a  warm  day,  and  while  the  molten  iron 
was  running,  the  heat  seemed  awful.  Robert  felt 
that  every  pore  in  his  body  was  streaming ;  he  could 
hardly  breathe;  his  gaze  turned  yearningly  toward 
the  green  hillside,  visible  through  the  open  walls  of 
the  furnace  building.  But  he  remembered  his  duty ; 
he  summoned  all  his  fortitude,  and  bravely  took  such 
share  as  he  could  in  the  labors  of  the  hour. 


THE     CITY    OF     SMOKE    AND    FLAME  63 

Alexander  found  himself  helper  to  a  puddler 
named  Ross — Anderson  Ross,  a  Scotchman,  as  his 
name  indicated,  and  whose  memory  of  olden  times 
was  awakened,  not  to  Alexander's  disadvantage, 
when  he  learned  that  the  latter  also  was  a  Scotch-, 
man's  son.  Unlike  the  blast  furnace,  the  rolling 
mills  were  open  to  the  highway.  Near  each  fire 
was  a  bin  of  coal,  and  the  chief  labor  of  the  helper 
was  keeping  the  fire  well  supplied,  and  at  a  good 
heat  with  fuel,  although  he  also  relieved  the  puddler 
at  intervals  in  stirring  and  raking  out  the  molten 
cinder.  There  is  something  fascinating  about  ma 
chinery,  the  bright  brass  and  mirrored  steel  of  a 
railway  locomotive,  the  ingenious  and  intricate  com 
bination  of  parts  all  working  in  a  wonderful  har 
mony  and  with  a  wonderful  effect.  It  brings  out 
a  man's  highest  intellectual  and  physical  attribute — 
the  creative.  The  machinist  sees  gradually  growing 
under  his  hand  a  creature  of  metal,  proportioned  not 
only  to  grandeur  but  to  gracefulness,  able  to  move 
under  the  propelling  power  of  steam,  and  able  with 
greater  might  than  ever  attributed  to  mythical  giant 
or  demigod,  to  draw  or  propel  vast  quantities  of 
material.  Like  the  sculptor,  the  machinist  looks 
with  pride,  even  affection,  upon  the  thing,  the  being, 
that  he  has  brought  by  his  skill  and  his  labor  from 
inert  and  shapeless  metal,  and — more  than  the  sculp 
tor — he  sees  that  being  move,  and  hears  it  speak 
through  its  throat  of  iron,  as  it  majestically  speeds 
on  its  destined  way,  bearing  as  a  precious  burden, 
the  hopes,  the  fears,  the  aspirations,  of  hundreds  of 
mankind. 

Not  so  the  rolling  mill.     Here  grime  and  dust, 


64  ADAM     CLARKE 

dirt  and  heat  are  the  portion  of  the  toiler.  From 
early  afternoon  until  late  at  night,  from  before 
dawn  in  the  morning  until  far  in  the  day,  he  labors 
on,  converting  the  pigs  from  the  blast  furnace  into 
•iron  fit  for  the  machine-shop,  or  for  the  railway. 
His  eyes  are  seared  by  the  white  heat,  which  glares 
into  his  face  as  he  stirs  and  mixes  and  brews  the 
melted  mass,  drawing  the  impurities  out  in  a 
streamlet  of  fire,  at  his  very  feet.  The  flames  that 
flare  at  intervals  through  the  low  iron  chimney,  not 
unlike  a  great  stove-pipe,  coupled  with  the  sounds 
that  echo  like  a  cannon-shot  when  the  white-hot 
iron  is  placed  in  the  revolving  "squeezer"  remind 
the  sleeping  city  of  the  vast  industries  that  know 
no  night,  and  that  measure  the  labor  of  man  without 
regard  to  sunrise  or  sunset.  For  hours  the  puddler 
and  his  helper  persevere.  Then  a  "heat"  is  ready. 
The  metal  has  been  cooked  to  the  requisite  purity, 
and  is  now  iron  in  the  ordinary  commercial  meaning. 
The  door  of  the  furnace  is  thrown  wide  open.  To 
the  unaccustomed  eye  nothing  is  visible  but  white, 
misty  flame,  from  which  rolls  forth  a  blast  as  with 
ering  as  the  breath  of  Sahara.  The  puddler  sees 
a  glowing  lump  of  purified  iron.  He  draws  it  out. 
It  falls  at  his  feet,  sending  forth  a  shower  of  sparks, 
and  dripping  with  a  few  drops  of  molten  liquid. 
The  iron  is  seized  with  large  hooks  by  the  puddler 
and  his  helper,  placed  on  a  barrow,  and  rapidly 
dragged  to  the  "squeezer."  It  passes  into  that  ma 
chine,  not  unlike  an  immense  hopper,  and  is  ground 
into  some  shapeliness,  much  as  a  coffee-mill  grinds 
and  crushes  a  grain  of  the  fragrant  berry.  Then 
the  iron  passes  to  another  machine,  to  be  rolled  into 


THE     CITY    OF     SMOKE    AND    FLAME  6$ 

bars.  Or  again,  if  the  iron  is  intended  for  bars  of 
a  more  than  common  width,  the  white  lump,  as 
taken  from  the  furnace,  is  placed  under  a  tremen 
dous  hammer,  and  rudely  flattened  with  two  or  three 
blows,  before  being  taken  to  the  rolling  machine. 

It  was  hard  work  for  Alexander,  trained  in  the 
lighter  tasks  of  an  apprentice  in  a  machine-shop; 
but  he  shared  his  brother's  spirit  of  perseverance, 
and  resolved  to  remain  in  the  rolling  mill  until  he 
had  saved  some  money,  and  with  Robert,  established 
a  home  for  his  mother  and  sisters. 

The  brothers  devoted  their  leisure  time  to  be 
coming  acquainted  with  the  city  of  their  adoption, 
and  they  lost  no  opportunity  to  learn  by  reading 
and  inquiry  what  they  could  of  American  history 
and  particularly  of  the  history  of  Pittsburgh.  They 
found  that  the  city  of  great  industries  had  a  past 
of  which  its  people  might  well  be  proud,  and  they 
gazed  with  interest  on  the  neglected  remnant  of 
old  Fort  Pitt,  so  eloquent  of  the  conflict  between 
England  and  France  for  the  control  of  North  Amer 
ica.  One  Sunday,  while  walking  along  the  verge  of 
Mount  Washington,  Robert  and  Alexander  met  a 
young  man  named  Andrew  Craig,  employed  by  the 
Pennsylvania  Railroad  Company.  Craig  overheard 
the  brothers  talking  to  each  other  about  some  point 
of  interest  in  the  panorama  before  them,  and  seeing 
that  they  were  strangers,  and  evidently  respectable, 
he  stopped  to  explain  to  them.  The  brothers  were 
favorably  impressed  by  Craig,  and  the  conversation 
ended  with  an  invitation  given  and  accepted  to  visit 
him  in  his  boarding  house  on  Try  Street. 

Andrew  Craig  was  a  native  of  Pittsburgh.     His 


66  ADAM     CLARKE 

ancestors  emigrated  to  the  place  when  it  was  a  little 
town  of  traders,  clustering  under  the  shadow  of  Fort 
Pitt.  His  great-grandfather  had  served  in  the  Revo 
lution,  and  his  father  was  a  veteran  of  the  war  for 
the  Union.  The  family  had  always  been  respectable, 
but  never  wealthy,  and  Andrew  early  in  life  started 
to  make  a  living  for  himself.  He  carried  news 
papers  when  very  young,  and  when  he  grew  towards 
manhood's  years  he  obtained  work  in  the  freight 
yard  of  the  Pennsylvania  Railway.  He  proved  a 
willing  and  industrious  worker,  and  after  about 
eight  years  as  freight-handler  and  brakeman,  he 
was  put  in  charge  of  a  freight  train  as  conductor. 
He  was  well  informed  and  intelligent  for  his  sta 
tion  in  life,  besides  being  almost  a  Samson  in 
muscle  and  sinew — although  there  was  nothing  of 
the  bully  in  his  nature — and  his  associates  therefore 
looked  up  to  him  as  a  leader  and  an  adviser. 

A  close  acquaintance  grew  between  the  three 
young  men.  He  introduced  them  to  his  married 
sister  and  her  husband,  Thomas  Denny,  an  indus 
trious  mechanic,  and  member  of  the  militia,  and  they 
told  him  about  their  mother  and  sisters  and  brother 
in  Fall  River.  Craig  seemed  deeply  impressed  with 
what  they  said  of  Martha,  of  how  good  and  true  she 
was  to  her  mother,  her  sister  Mary,  and  her  younger 
brother  and  Allie. 

Robert  and  Alexander,  too,  longed  to  have  the 
family  together  again,  and  when  Craig  offered  part 
of  his  savings  to  help  them  in  starting  a  home, 
they  accepted  with  the  understanding  that  the  money 
was  to  be  returned  from  their  earnings  at  a  stated 
sum  weekly. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

t 

HARMONYVILLE. 

WHEN  Bassett  had  told  his  story  he  added  man 
fully  that  he  could  not  again  be  seen  in  Mrs.  Clarke's 
tenement,  as  it  would  only  bring  on  her  the  wrath 
of  the  millionaires,  and  result  in  depriving  her  and 
her  children  of  a  living.  Her  kind  words  and  treat 
ment  had  brought  him  back  again,  he  said,  to  his 
duty  to  his  wife  and  child,  and  as  he  had  no  money, 
they  would  start  from  Fall  River  on  foot  on  the 
following  morning,  and  try  to  get  work  somewhere 
at  something. 

"You  must  not  go  on  foot,"  said  Mrs.  Clarke. 
"A  man  might  stand  it,  but  your  wife  with  the  baby 
could  not.  I  have  still  a  few  sovereigns  left.  You 
can  have  one  of  them,  and  pay  your  way  to  Provi 
dence,  and  have  enough  left  to  keep  you  a  day  or 
so,  while  looking  for  work." 

Tears  spoke  the  thanks  of  wife  and  husband  more 
eloquently  than  words. 

When  Bassett  could  speak  he  said :  "This  shall  be 
paid  back  from  my  first  money,  Mrs.  Clarke,  even  if 
I  have  to  go  hungry  to  do  it.  I  have  heard  of  a  place 
called  Harmonyville,  not  far  from  Providence, 
owned  by  a  man  named  James  Phelps,  Jr.,  who  is 

67 


68  ADAM     CLARKE 

disliked  by  the  other  millowners  because  he  is  good 
to  the  help,  and  keeps  so  many  people  that  speak 
English  in  his  mills.  I  will  go  up  on  the  boat  to 
morrow  morning,  and  go  to  Harmonyville,  and  per 
haps  I  will  get  work  there.  At  any  rate  I  am  told 
that  some  others  that  were  blacklisted  have  got  work 
in  Harmonyville.  There  isn't  much  left  of  my  fur 
niture,  but  what  there  is  you  can  take  for  your 
kindness,  for  it  may  be  that  I  may  not  get  work, 
and  you  might  never  hear  of  me  again." 

Mrs.  Clarke  invited  the  Bassetts  to  take  breakfast 
the  next  morning  before  going,  and  after  a  touching 
parting,  the  Bassetts  started  for  the  Providence 
boat  on  their  way  to  Harmonyville. 

Bassett,  his  wife  and  baby  arrived  safely  in  the 
little  village  late  on  the  same  evening  on  which  they 
had  left  Fall  River.  The  scene  presented  a  remark 
able  contrast  to  the  place  they  had  left.  Three  or 
four  rows  of  cottages  with  flower-gardens  in  front, 
and  bearing  every  appearance  of  neatness  without 
and  happiness  within,  recalled  the  pleasant  rural 
scenes  of  old  England.  There  was  a  village  hall 
and  library,  a  green,  with  a  large  oak  tree  growing 
in  the  center,  a  white-painted  public  school,  and  in 
the  distance,  but  not  too  far  away  for  a  pleasant 
Sunday  walk,  the  church  spires  of  the  neighboring 
town.  There  was  a  company  store  to  accommodate 
those  who  desired  credit  on  their  weekly  earnings, 
but  an  independent  store  at  the  edge  of  the  com 
pany's  property,  was  not  only  tolerated,  but  en 
couraged,  and  had  a  busy  trade. 

Bassett  was  directed  to  the  house  of  one  of  the 


HARMONYVJLLE  69 

overseers,  who  received  him  kindly.  "There  will 
be  a  place  for  you  next  Monday  morning,"  said  the 
overseer  to  Bassett,  "as  we  are  going  to  send  off 
some  of  the  Turks  and  Armenians  we  recently  hired, 
and  who  don't  seem  able  to  learn  anything.  In  the 
meantime  I  will  find  a  place  for  you  and  your  family 
to  board.  Mr.  Phelps  is  sick  of  the  Orientals  who 
are  being  imported  to  the  mills,  and  means  to  get 
rid  of  them  as  fast  as  he  can,  and  have  only  Eng 
lish-speaking  help  in  future.  The  other  manufac 
turers  are  making  trouble  for  him,  and  he's  been 
summoned  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  Slater  Club 
to-night  in  Providence,  but  he  will  not  change  his 
course,  he  told  me,  no  matter  what  happens." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  SLATER  CLUB  ENCOURAGES  AMERICAN  INDUSTRY. 

THE  meeting  of  the  Slater  Club  was  largely  at 
tended.  Manufacturers  were  present  from  distant 
points  of  New  England,  and  the  dingy  upstairs 
room  in  the  Textile  Bank  building  buzzed  with 
conversation  long  before  the  appointed  hour  for 
opening  the  proceedings.  A  subject  of  especial  in 
terest  was  evidently  to  come  up. 

President  Aldridge  rapped  for  order.  He  looked 
grave,  and  as  he  spoke  his  eyes  glanced  sternly  tow 
ard  a  corner  of  the  room  where  sat  James  Phelps, 
Jr- 

"Our  meeting  this  evening,"  said  the  President, 
"is  to  consider  a  very  serious  charge  against  one  of 
our  members.  It  is  evident  that  many  of  you  have 
already  heard  what  this  charge  is,  and  I  sincerely 
hope  that  satisfactory  explanation  will  be  forth 
coming.  Otherwise,  for  the  sake  of  our  own  in 
terests,  and  in  the  cause  of  the  protection  of  Amer 
ican  industry,  we  should  take  prompt  and  exemplary 
action.  Shall  the  reading  of  the  minutes  of  the 
last  meeting  be  dispensed  with?  All  in  favor  vote 
"aye." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  "ayes." 
70 


ENCOURAGES     AMERICAN     INDUSTRY  71 

"Then  the  secretary  will  proceed  to  read  the 
charges  that  have  been  filed." 

The  charges  in  substance  were  that  James  Phelps, 
Jr.,  a  member  of  the  Slater  Club,  organized  for  the 
protection  of  American  manufacturing  interests,  had 
violated  a  fundamental  rule  of  the  club  in  taking 
into  employment  in  his  factory  at  Harmony ville, 
Massachusetts,  a  native  American  of  American 
parentage,  named  William  Williams.  The  charge 
was  signed,  according  to  the  rules,  by  two  members 
of  the  club,  Jeremiah  Sharp  and  Brayton  Dark. 

"Mr.  Phelps  has  been  duly  notified,"  said  the 
President,  "and  I  see  that  he  is  here.  What  have 
you  to  say  to  the  charge,  Mr.  Phelps  ?" 

James  Phelps,  Jr.,  arose.  His  cheeks  were  flushed, 
but  otherwise  he  showed  no  sign  of  unusual  feeling 
as  he  deliberately  spoke. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Phelps,  "that  I  gave  work 
to  William  Williams.  The  man's  family  has  lived  in 
Harmonyville  for  years.  He  is  a  descendant,  I 
believe,  of  Roger  Willliams,  and  his  grandfather 
was  of  considerable  help  to  my  father,  when  father 
made  his  start  in  the  factory  business.  The  Wil 
liams'  farm  was  sold  under  mortgage  a  year  ago, 
and  William  Williams  had  his  old  mother  and  para 
lyzed  father  to  support,  and  besides  his  wife  had 
just  had  a  baby.  He  came  to  my  house  and  told 
me  about  his  condition.  I  offered  him  money,  but 
he  thanked  me  and  refused  it.  He  said  he  wanted 
work.  I  thought  it  would  be  no  harm  in  such  a 
case  to  break  the  rule,  and  give  work  to  an  Amer 
ican.  Besides,  my  superintendent  has  found  that  the 


72  ADAM     CLARKE 

Turks  and  Armenians  who  were  sent  to  me  two 
months  ago  by  Mr.  Dark  do  not  get  along  very 
well  together.  They  are  slow  to  learn  and  have 
spoiled  a  good  deal  of  work.  So  I  thought  for  all 
these  reasons  I  would  give  Williams  a  trial.  He  is 
a  very  intelligent  and  willing  worker." 

"That's  the  devil  of  it,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brayton 
Dark,  breaking  in  angrily.  "The  more  intelligence 
the  more  danger.  We  don't  want  intelligent  people 
in  the  mills.  As  they  used  to  say  of  the  negroes  in 
slave  times,  we  want  them  to  know  enough  to  work, 
and  know  nothing  else.  One  American  can  infect 
a  whole  mill.  Now,  I'm  surprised  that  Mr.  Phelps 
has  not  been  able  to  get  along  with  Turks  and  Ar 
menians.  I  have  found  them  very  satisfactory.  My 
overseers  carry  whips,  and  if  they  see  any  lagging 
or  slighting  of  work,  they  just  give  the  fellow  a 
slash  over  the  shoulders,  or  across  the  back,  and  he 
awakens  to  his  task  right  away.  Of  course,  this 
would  not  do  with  an  American.  I  suppose  if  Mr. 
Phelps'  friend,  Williams,  had  a  whip  drawn  over 
him  he  might  hit  back,  or  make  a  complaint  to  a 
magistrate,  or  start  a  strike  in  the  mill,  or  something 
of  that  kind." 

Here  Mr.  Dark  sat  down,  with  a  toss  of  the  head 
toward  the  offender. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  too  hard  on  Mr.  Phelps, 
either,"  piped  Mr.  Sharp,  in  a  shrill  voice,  "but 
a  gentleman  of  his  experience  in  manufacturing 
should  know  that  when  we  spend  our  money  to 
get  a  high  tariff  for  the  protection  of  American 
industry,  and  have  just  got  part  of  what  we  want, 


ENCOURAGES    AMERICAN     INDUSTRY  73 

'by  the  skin  of  our  teeth,'  as  Senator  Palmitch  told 
me  the  other  day — and  he  ought  to  know,  for  he 
handled  the  funds — it  won't  do  to  run  any  risk 
by  employing  firebrands  in  our  establishments,  and 
I  tell  you  that  Americans,  with  their  ideas  of  liberty 
and  equality,  are  firebrands.  For  my  part,  I  would 
even  go  further  than  our  present  rule,  and  not 
employ  anyone  in  the  mills  that  can  talk  the  English 
language.  I  believe  that  is  the  rule  in  some  of  the 
sugar  factories,  and  they  get  along  very  well.  Who 
ever  hears  of  a  strike  in  a  sugar  factory  ?" 

"I  don't  see  any  question  to  discuss,"  said  Mr. 
Lipton,  of  Providence. 

Mr.  Lipton  had  sobered  up  for  this  particular 
occasion,  and  was  anxious  to  have  the  meeting  over, 
as  three  members  of  his  harem  were  waiting  for 
him  in  an  adjoining  cafe. 

"Mr.  Phelps,"  continued  Mr.  Lipton,  "admits 
that  he  has  violated  a  rule  of  the  Club,  and  he 
should  either  apologize  and  promise  to  dismiss  the 
American  in  his  employ,  or  else  he  should  be  ex 
pelled.  That's  the  sum  and  substance  of  the  mat 
ter.  For  my  part,  I  don't  want  to  associate  with 
anyone  so  immoral  as  to  break  his  pledge  the  way 
Mr.  Phelps  has  done — unless  he  makes  amends." 

"Mr.  President,"  said  Mr.  Phelps,  as  he  rose  with 
new  earnestness  in  his  voice,  and  a  new  majesty  in 
his  manner,  "Mr.  Lipton  is  right  when  he  says 
there  is  nothing  to  discuss.  I  will  frankly  tell  you 
that  I  am  so  well  pleased  with  the  experiment  of 
employing  an  American  in  my  factory  that  I  will 
keep  on  employing  him,  and  add  to  the  number — " 


74  ADAM     CLARKE 

Shouts  of  protest  from  all  parts  of  the  room  for 
a  time  drowned  the  voice  of  the  speaker. 

"Expel  him!"  cried  Dark. 

"Make  an  example  of  him !"  roared  Lipton. 

"He's  a  traitor  to  American  industry!"  piped 
Sharp. 

Mr.  Phelps  looked  calmly  about.  The  confusion 
subsided.  He  resumed:  "You  know,  Mr.  Presi 
dent  and  gentlemen,  that  no  one  has  given  a  fairer 
trial  than  I  have  to  the  employment  of  foreign  labor, 
and  no  one  has  been  more  liberal  than  I  have  in 
contributions  to  prevent  a  reduction  of  the  tariff. 
When  Senator  Palmitch  told  us  that  money  was 
needed  to  secure  the  votes  of  some  senators  for 
higher  duties  I  gave  thousands  where  some  of  you 
gave  hundreds,  and  if  Senator  Palmitch  did  not  keep 
his  word  as  fully  as  he  ought,  and  looked  out  for 
the  sugar  men  when  he  should  have  been  looking 
out  for  us,  it  was  not  my  fault. 

"You  know,  too,  that  I  was  with  you  in  trying 
to  have  the  Chinese  Exclusion  Law  repealed,  so 
that  we  should  have  all  we  wanted  of  cheap  labor 
from  China,  and  that  I  have  found  room  for  my 
share  of  the  Turks  and  Armenians. 

"But  it  don't  work.  My  heart  an.d  my  pocket 
both  cry  out  against  the  exclusion  of  Americans 
from  the  mills.  Harmonyville  don't  look  like  what 
it  used  to  when  my  father  had  it  full  of  Americans. 
Its  all  very  well  to  say  that  if  the  Americans  don't 
get  work  they  will  be  starved  into  going  elsewhere. 
Its  not  a  pleasant  sight  for  me  to  see  my  countrymen 


ENCOURAGES     AMERICAN     INDUSTRY  75 

starving,  and  their  wives  and  babies  hungry,  while 
I  am  paying  out  my  money  to  Turks  and  Armenians, 
and  such  like — " 

"I  rise  to  a  point  of  order,"  screamed  Dark,  his 
face  livid,  and  his  voice  trembling  with  rage.  "Mr. 
Phelps  is  not  speaking  to  the  question." 

"The  point  is  well  taken,"  said  President  Aldridge, 
sternly,  as  he  repressed  his  feelings  with  manifest 
effort.  "The  only  question  before  the  Club  is  the 
action  to  be  adopted  in  view  of  the  acknowledgment 
made  by  Mr.  Phelps,  and  his  declaration  that  he  will 
continue  to  defy  one  of  our  fundamental  rules." 

"I  move  that  James  Phelps,  Jr.,  be  expelled  from 
the  Slater  Club,"  piped  Jerry  Sharp,  more  shrilly 
than  ever. 

"I  think,"  interpolated  the  President,  with  an 
air  of  fairness  too  ostentatious  to  be  sincere,  "that 
you  should  first  decide  whether  the  charge  made  is 
sustained. 

A  roar  of  "ayes"  greeted  the  question,  and  the 
charge  was  formally  sustained. 

Mr.  Sharp  then  repeated  his  motion  to  expel 
Mr.  Phelps  from  the  Club,  and  it  was  carried  with 
out  a  negative  vote. 

Mr.  Phelps  put  on  his  hat,  and  retired. 

"After  this  painful  scene,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
President,  "I  would  like  to  adjourn  without  doing 
anything  more,  but  there  is  a  matter  very  near  to 
all  of  us  which  I  think  ought  to  be  attended  to. 
You  know  that  the  existing  tariff,  although  in  many 
respects  acceptable,  could  be  improved.  Besides, 


76  ADAM     CLARKE 

the  enemies  of  American  industry  are  always  active, 
and  we  must  be  active  in  its  defence.  I  would  urge 
therefore  that,  in  view  of  the  approaching  special 
session  of  Congress,  meetings  be  held  in  every  manu 
facturing  city,  town  and  village,  and  resolutions 
passed,  demanding  in  behalf  of  American  labor, 
higher  duties  on  our  classes  of  goods.  The  present 
duties,  while  they  protect  us  to  a  certain  extent,  do 
not  prevent  importations  sufficiently  for  our  pur 
poses.  In  my  own  line — that  of  children's  stockings, 
as  you  know — I  am  obliged  to  use  a  better  quality 
of  material  than  I  would  be  if  the  duty  were  higher. 
This  works  against  my  interests  in  two  ways.  I 
have  to  pay  more  for  material  in  order  to  make 
stockings  that  will  compete  with  the  foreign  article, 
and  as  the  children  wear  the  stockings  longer  than 
they  would  if  the  material  were  poorer,  the  demand 
is  lessened.  I  would  suggest  that  your  superinten 
dents  instruct  the  overseers  to  hold  meetings  which 
will  adopt  resolutions  pointing  out  the  injustice  done 
to  the  American  workingman  by  the  present  duties, 
and  the  necessity  for  protecting  our  American  labor 
from  competition  with  foreign  labor." 

Nods  and  murmurs  of  approval  greeted  the  utter 
ances  from  the  chair. 

"I  would  also  add,  before  adjourning,"  remarked 
the  President,  "that  I  have  received  a  letter  from 
Senator  Bore,  assuring  me  that  he  will  continue  his 
efforts  for  the  repeal  of  the  Chinese  Exclusion  Law. 
The  Chinese  Minister  and  Senator  Bore  had  a  con 
ference  on  the  subject  last  week.  The  minister 


ENCOURAGES    AMERICAN     INDUSTRY  T] 

stated  that,  owing  to  the  decline  of  the  Chinese  tea 
trade,  consequent  on  the  growth  of  tea-planting  in 
India,  Ceylon  and  Japan,  millions  of  the  lower  class 
of  Chinese  are  without  their  accustomed  employ 
ment,  and  would  be  glad  to  immigrate  to  the  United 
States,  should  the  existing  prohibition  be  removed. 
In  the  event  of  its  removal,  every  factory  in  the 
United  States  could  be  supplied  with  cheap  labor 
as  fast  as  the  immigrants  could  be  brought  over  from 
China.  Senator  Bore  expressed  his  hearty  sym 
pathy  with  the  Chinese  minister's  desire  to  have  his 
countrymen  placed  on  a  level  with  immigrants  from 
Europe,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that,  with  these  two 
illustrious  statesmen  working  for  a  common  purpose, 
the  Exclusion  Act  will  yet  be  repealed." 

Clapping  of  hands  and  exclamations  of  pleasure 
followed  the  President's  remarks. 

After  adjournment  many  members  of  the  Club 
remained  in  the  room,  talking  over  the  unexpected 
attitude  of  Mr.  James  Phelps,  Jr.  The  expelled 
member  had  been  rather  a  favorite  with  his  fellows 
previous  to  his  recent  action,  and  regret  was  mingled 
with  the  almost  universal  expressions  of  condemna 
tion. 

Mr.  Brayton  Dark  called  a  meeting  of  the  Com 
mittee  on  Emergencies,  of  which  he  was  chairman, 
and  the  committee  authorized  him  to  take  any  course 
that  he  might  deem  necessary  in  the  interests  of 
the  Club,  in  regard  to  the  Phelps  incident. 

A  private  conference  followed  between  Dark  and 
Sharp,  and  it  became  known  confidentially  to  a 


7  ADAM    CLARKE 

number  who  yet  lingered,  that  on  the  following  day 
there  would  be  an  inquiry  as  to  Mr.  Phelps'  financial 
condition,  and  possibly  a  calling  in  of  any  loans  that 
might  have  been  made  to  him  in  the  way  of  tem 
porary  accommodation.  It  was  also  arranged  to 
have  the  meetings  in  behalf  of  a  higher  tariff  for  the 
protection  of  American  industry  held  without  de 
lay. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SENATOR   PALMITCH    ADDRESSES   A    MEETING    IN    BE 
HALF   OF   PROTECTION    FOR   THE    AMERICAN 
WORKINGMAN. 

"A  MEETING  will  be  held  at  eight  o'clock  next 
Thursday  evening,  June  23,  in  the  town  hall,  Dark- 
ville,  in  the  interests  of  protection  for  American  in 
dustry.  All  employes  in  the  Darkville  Mills  are 
expected  to  attend.  Senator  Palmitch  will  deliver 
an  address." 

Copies  of  the  above  notice  were  posted  in  the 
Darkville  mill  and  the  village,  and  also  in  the  ad 
joining  village  of  Sharptown,  chiefly  inhabited  by 
French  Canadians  of  recent  arrival.  The  Sharp- 
town  factory  was  formerly  operated  by  immigrants 
from  Lancashire,  England,  but  these  had  hesitated 
to  submit  to  a  reduction  of  wages,  and  suddenly, 
one  morning,  a  freight  train  arrived  on  the  railroad 
siding  in  the  mill-yard,  loaded  with  French  Cana 
dians,  who  were  marched  into  the  factory.  When 
the  former  operatives  came  to  work  as  usual,  they 
found  the  gate  closed,  and  a  notice  posted  telling 
them  to  apply,  on  the  following  day,  for  the  money 
due  to  them.  A  strong  force  of  Pinkerton  detec 
tives,  armed  with  carbines  and  pistols,  were  sta- 

79 


8O  ADAM     CLARKE 

tioned  about  the  mill.  The  locked-out  men  and 
women  and  children,  who  had  no  thought  of  vio 
lence,  went  sadly  to  their  dwellings,  and  prepared 
to  seek  employment  elsewhere.  Within  a  few  days 
they  were  all  gone.  Those  who  could  afford  it  went 
back  to  England;  two  young  girls,  who  had  no 
parents  and  were  penniless,  sought  rest  in  the  mill- 
pond,  some  became  outcasts,  and  the  remainder  were 
glad  to  take  work  at  any  price  grudgingly  offered  to 
them  in  other  factories,  for  they  were  listed  every 
where  as  troublesome,  and  while  not  absolutely 
barred  from  employment,  they  were  regarded  with 
aversion  and  suspicion. 

Meantime,  the  English  tongue  was  no  longer 
heard  in  the  streets  of  Sharptown,  and  the  strangers 
from  Canada  lived  in  a  frugal  fashion  that  made 
even  reduced  wages  more  than  enough  to  support 
them,  and  Jerry  Sharp  was  already  thinking  of 
another  reduction  to  the  point  of  bare  existence  for 
his  operatives. 

At  about  the  noon  hour  on  Thursday,  June  23, 
the  overseers  in  the  Darkville  mill  gave  word  around 
that  all  the  operatives  should  assemble  in  the  weave- 
room.  The  workers  were  mostly  Turks  and  Ar 
menians,  with  a  sprinkling  of  Poles  and  Hebrews, 
sent  over  by  a  colonization  society  in  London.  They 
understood  just  enough  English  to  be  able  to  operate 
their  looms,  and  no  more.  All  else  was  Greek  to 
them — or,  more  comprehensively  speaking,  Chinese. 
Two  or  three  of  the  more  intelligent  were  excep 
tions  to  this  rule,  and  acted  as  interpreters  for  the 
others,  and  these  were  now  called  upon  to  explain 


AMERICAN     WORKINGMAN  8 1 

the  details  of  the  coming  meeting  in  behalf  of  protec 
tion  for  the  American  workingman,  and  incidentally 
for  his  employer. 

Mr.  Brayton  Dark  was  present  to  dictate  the 
programme,  and  to  see  that  his  instructions  were 
properly  impressed  on  the  motley  throng  that  was 
to  masquerade  as  intelligent  American  industry, 
clamoring  for  salvation  from  the  pauper  labor  of 
Europe. 

The  best  of  interpreters  was  Bishmillah  Raschid 
ben  Adhem,  who  had  formerly  been  connected  with 
the  harem  of  the  pasha  of  Trebizond,  and  who,  like 
most  of  his  peculiar  class,  was  thoroughly  submis 
sive,  and  at  the  same  time,  crafty,  shrewd  and  sinu 
ous.  Owing  to  connection  with  the  kidnapping  of 
a  girl  from  Russian  territory  Adhem  had  to  fly  from 
Trebizond,  and  being  followed  up  by  the  Russian 
authorities  he  shaped  his  flight  across  the  Atlantic, 
and  landed  at  length  in  Darkville,  along  with  a 
number  of  other  Orientals.  He  soon  proved  himself 
useful  about  the  mill  office,  and  rapidly  added  to 
the  stock  of  English  which  he  had  acquired  during 
his  travels.  As  he  also  understood  Armenian  he 
became  the  chief  go-between  in  carrying  orders, 
apart  from  ordinary  routine,  to  the  operatives.  He 
was  familiarly  called  "Darn"  by  superiors,  who 
placed  much  confidence  in  him,  and  looked  to  him 
for  secret  reports  regarding  the  temper  and  dis 
position  of  his  associates.  "Dam"  was  now  counted 
upon  to  make  the  meeting  of  Thursday  night  a 
success. 

With  much  chattering  and  Oriental  gesticulation 


82  ADAM     CLARKE 

he  explained  to  the  Turks  and  Armenians  what 
they  were  to  do — how  when  he  cheered — and  here  he 
imitated  in  a  shrill,  feminine  voice  the  American 
"hurrah" — they  were  to  cheer — and  when  he  hissed 
they  were  to  hiss,  and  when  he  clapped  his  hands, 
they  were  all  to  do  the  same — and  so  forth. 

Similar  instructions  were  given  to  the  French 
Canadians  in  the  Sharptown  mill,  where  Lawrence 
Dorion,  a  middle-aged  man  from  Montreal,  with  a 
hot  temper,  and  a  hatred  of  everything  English, 
acted  as  leader  of  his  fellows.  Dorion  was  told  to 
follow  strictly  and  literally  the  cues  to  be  given  by 
''Dam/'  to  whom  he  would  be  introduced  that  even 
ing. 

At  eight  o'clock  precisely  the  town  hall  of  Dark- 
ville  was  thronged  with  mill  operatives.  The  French 
Canadians  from  Sharptown  occupied  one  side  of  the 
hall.  The  Turks,  Armenians  and  Poles  were  on 
the  other  side.  In  rear  seats  were  "Dam"  and 
Dorion,  in  positions  where  they  would  command  a 
view  of  all  that  was  going  on,  in  the  audience  as  well 
as  on  the  platform.  Jerry  Sharp  presided.  Near 
him  sat  Brayton  Dark  and  Senator  Palmitch.  Half 
a  dozen  mill  overseers,  and  two  or  three  local  poli 
ticians  gave  support  to  the  stars  of  the  occasion, 
and  one  of  the  overseers  held  in  his  hand  a  set  of 
resolutions  prepared  by  Jerry  Sharp,  and  inspected 
and  approved  by  Senator  Palmitch. 

Palmitch  was  a  handsome,  elderly  man.  Starting 
in  life  in  a  humble  capacity  he  had  won  his  way 
by  tact,  ability  and  daring  to  a  prominent  place  in 
the  business  and  politics  of  his  State.  He  had  a 


AMERICAN     WORKINGMAN  83 

fair  schooling  to  begin  with,  and  on  this  he  built 
a  superstructure  of  self-education,  intended  espe 
cially  to  make  him  master  of  subjects  of  command 
ing  interest  in  national  politics.  His  ambition  was 
higher  than  his  principle.  He  dreamed  at  one  time 
even  of  the  White  House,  but  observation  convinced 
him  that  the  Senate  was  the  limit  of  his  achievement. 
Even  with  this  limitation  he  might  have  bequeathed 
his  name  to  future  generations  as  one  of  the  great 
statesmen  of  the  latter  part  of  the  century — but 
here  his  fatal  weakness — avarice — intervened,  and 
he  deliberately  sold  himself,  his  fame,  his  conscience 
and  his  name — not  for  the  prospect  of  higher  honors 
— which  might  have  been  pardonable,  and  as  greater 
men  had  done  before — but  for  money,  plain,  simple, 
sordid  lucre,  the  price  of  the  people's  betrayal  to 
their  worst  enemies,  the  trusts  and  monopolies.  His 
price  was  high ;  he  received  it.  The  vulgar  retinue 
regarded  him  as  fortunate ;  his  own  conscience  told 
him  that  he  was  worse  than  a  traitor  to  his  country 
— he  was  a  Judas  to  himself.  He  still  continued 
in  a  perfunctory  way  to  parade  up  and  down  about 
election,  making  the  oldtime  speeches,  but  without 
the  oldtime  feeling,  and  hearing  in  every  echo  of 
his  own  voice  a  reminder  of  what  he  might  have 
been,  a  reproach  for  what  he  was. 

In  justice  even  to  Palmitch  it  should  be  said  that 
he  did  not  know  the  character  of  his  audience.  In 
a  general  way  he  knew  that  native  Americans  were 
not  wanted  in  the  mills  of  New  England,  any  more 
than  in  the  mines  of  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio.  He 
knew  that  even  foreigners  who  spoke  English  were 


84  ADAM     CLARKE 

regarded  with  disfavor  by  manufacturers  because 
of  the  spirit  of  liberty  which  seemed  inseparable 
from  the  language  of  Cromwell  and  Washington. 
He  knew  that  outlandish  people  from  the  Orient 
were  being  imported  to  undermine  American  inde 
pendence,  pollute  American  manhood,  and  substitute 
Oriental  servility  for  American  self-respect.  But 
he  did  not  know  that  the  audience  before  him  was 
altogether  foreign  to  the  very  tongue  of  his  an 
cestors,  and  could  not  understand  a  word  he  was 
about  to  say.  Otherwise  even  Palmitch  might  have 
revolted  at  the  indignity,  and  have  turned  with 
loathing  from  the  scene. 

The  senator  was  introduced  by  Sharp  with  a 
not  unmerited  tribute  to  his  ability  as  a  public  man. 
"Dam"  put  in  the  applause  at  the  proper  place.  It  is 
needless  to  recite  the  senator's  speech.  It  was  his 
usual  deliverance  on  the  subject  of  protection,  with 
a  few  local  allusions.  He  mentioned,  as  illustrating 
the  benefits  of  a  high  tariff,  the  intelligent,  pros 
perous  appearance  of  the  audience  before  him, 
"composed  of  typical  American  workingmen,  show 
ing  in  their  looks  and  demeanor  the  benefits  derived 
from  training  in  our  American  public  schools,  and 
from  the  high  wages  which  the  tariff  enabled  Amer 
ican  manufacturers  to  pay  to  their  operatives." 

"How  little  you  know,  my  friends,"  added  Sena 
tor  Palmitch,  "of  the  conditions  which  prevail  in 
Europe.  Brought  up,  as  you  have  been  under  the 
American  flag,  and  enjoying  the  blessings  of  Ameri 
can  liberty,  you  cannot  appreciate  the  degraded 
situation  of  pauper  labor  abroad.  If  you  did — if 


AMERICAN     WORKINGMAN  85 


you  did" — repeated  the  senator  with  a  rising 
inflection — "you  would  direct  all  your  energies  tow 
ard  having  the  tariff  raised  higher  than  it  is  now, 
and  a  wall  erected  that  would  forever  prevent 
foreign  pauper  labor  from  competing  with  our 
American  labor — you  would  thank  Heaven  every 
waking  moment  that  you  were  born  here  in  free 
America,  instead  of  being  serfs  in  a  foreign  land, 
compelled  to  work  for  starvation  wages,  and  to 
obey  every  wink  and  nod  of  an  employer." 

As  Palmitch  sat  down  "Dam"  clapped  his  hands, 
Dorion  followed,  and  the  audience  joined  in  a  gen 
eral  handclapping.  Palmitch  bowed  and  smiled, 
and  "Dam"  tried  to  exclaim  "hurrah !" 

Now  it  is  well  known  that  "hurrah"  is  the  shib 
boleth  of  the  British  race  everywhere,  and  the 
jangle  of  sounds  that  followed  from  the  nondescript 
throng  in  its  efforts  to  throat  the  word  would  almost 
have  brought  a  smile  from  a  Bronx  Park  hippopota 
mus.  It  betrayed  the  situation  to  Senator  Palm- 
itch.  He  flushed  and  glanced  at  Sharp.  The  latter 
tried  to  look  composed,  and  hastened  .to  relieve  the 
strain  by  motioning  to  the  overseer  who  held  the 
resolutions  to  come  forward  and  read  them. 

The  resolutions  were  as  follows : 

"Resolved,  That  we,  the  American  workingmen 
of  Sharptown  and  Darkville  in  meeting  assembled, 
hereby  declare  ourselves  in  favor  of  such  an  in 
crease  in  the  tariff  on  cotton  goods  as  will  enable  us 
to  compete  with  the  degraded  pauper  labor  of 
Europe,  and  to  maintain  the  present  high  grade  of 
American  labor. 


86  ADAM     CLARKE 

"Resolved,  That  remembering  the  sacrifices  of 
our  forefathers  in  the  Revolution,  and  believing  that 
we,  their  sons,  should  maintain  unimpaired  the  herit 
age  they  transmitted  to  us,  we  earnestly  and  re 
spectfully  request  Congress  to  save  us  from  the 
impoverishment  and  depression  that  would  inevit 
ably  follow  any  reduction  of  the  existing  tariff, 
and  the  consequent  increase  of  competition  of  for 
eign  with  American  labor  in  manufacturing  indus 
tries. 

"Resolved,  That  it  is  the  duty  of  Congress  to 
foster  American  labor,  by  raising  the  tariff  on  all 
goods  manufactured  in  this  country." 

"Dam"  made  no  more  effort  at  hurrahing.  He 
clapped  his  hands  at  the  close  of  each  resolution, 
and  the  audience  clapped!,  too. 

Sharp  promptly  put  the  question.  "All  in  favor 
of  the  resolutions  will  say  'Aye/  "  he  declared,  in 
an  imperative  tone. 

"Dam"  was  on  his  feet,  ready  to  give  the  cue. 
He  opened  his  mouth  to  exclaim  "Aye !"  The  word 
died  on  his  lips  ere  it  was  born,  and  a  shriek  of 
terror  was  uttered  in  its  stead. 

A  heavy  hand  was  on  "Dam's"  shoulder.  Eyes 
looked  into  his,  that  he  recognized,  although  he  had 
never  seen  them  before.  The  hand  was  that  of  an 
American  detective;  the  eyes  were  those  of  a  Rus 
sian  police  agent. 

"Bishmillah  Raschid  ben  Adhem,"  spoke  the  de 
tective  sternly,  as  he  read  the  name  from  a  warrant, 
"I  have  an  order  for  your  arrest  on  the  charge  of 


AMERICAN     WORKINGMAK  8/ 

being  a  fugitive  from  justice  in  Russia,  where  you 
were  accused  of  the  crime  of  abducting  a  girl,  a 
Russian  subject." 

"You  identify  this  person  as  the  man  described 
in  the  warrant  ?"  added  the  detective,  turning  to  the 
Russian  police  officer. 

"I  do,"  answered  the  Russian  officer,  in  fairly 
good  English.  "He  is  undoubtedly  the  person." 

The  audience  was  in  confusion.  As  before  stated, 
"Dam,"  or  Adhem,  was  in  a  rear  seat,  where  he 
could  see  and  be  heard,  without  being  observed  by 
the  rest  of  the  assembly.  The  instructions  were  to 
follow  his  utterances  implicitly.  When  "Dam" 
shrieked  in  terror  many  of  those  present  thought  it 
was  part  of  the  proceedings,  and  shrieked,  too. 

Others  jumped  about  in  alarm.  Orientals  scent 
an  official  in  any  guise  or  disguise,  and  as  most  of 
them  who  are  exiles  have  done  something  or  other, 
rendering  them  liable  to  penalties  at  home,  the  sight 
of  a  police  agent  is  very  upsetting.  As  they  saw 
"Dam"  in  the  grasp  of  an  officer  the  din  and  terror 
and  Babel  grew. 

Sharp  and  Dark  were  dumbfounded,  but  not 
frightened,  for  they  knew  their  human  menagerie. 
Palmitch,  on  the  other  hand,  thought  he  had  fallen 
among  madmen,  and  hastened  out  by  the  back  door 
in  a  rather  undignified  fashion.  The  Turks  and 
Armenians,  whom  it  was  hard  to  keep  from  each 
others'  throats  under  any  circumstances,  began  fight 
ing  and  screeching.  The  French  Canadians  huddled 
together,  not  as  cowards — for  they  are  not  cowards 


88  ADAM     CLARKE 

— but  in  utter  bewilderment  at  the  strange  and  sud 
den  outcome.  Dorion  got  angry,  and  began  belabor 
ing  Turks  and  Armenians  alike  with  a  stout  stick 
which  he  always  carried,  while  the  hall  resounded 
with  his  "sacr-r-r-e-e-s."  Meantime,  the  officers 
dragged  the  pale  and  trembling  Adhem  to  the  lock 
up,  leaving  the  meeting  of  "American  workingmen" 
to  fight  it  out,  if  it  took  all  night. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE   COAL    MINE. 

THE  miners*  huts  formed  three  straggling  streets 
along  the  bare  hillside.  They  were  more  wretched 
than  anything  that  Herbert  Prynne  had  seen  in 
Cornwall,  and  he  shrank,  almost  with  loathing,  when 
a  brown-skinned  Hungarian  greeted  him  with 
friendly  meaning  enough,  in  almost  unintelligible 
English.  The  miners  were  mostly  Hungarians,  with 
a  small  number  of  Welsh,  who  kept  apart  from  the 
others,  and  into  whose  company  Prynne  naturally 
drifted.  The  dwellings  of  the  Welsh  were  neater, 
both  inside  and  out,  than  those  of  the  Hungarians, 
and  the  Welsh  miners  were  a  superior  class  of 
workers,  and  evidently  regarded  as  such  both  by 
employers  and  fellow-workingmen.  They  were  kept 
on  account  of  their  skill.  The  mine  bosses  greatly 
preferred  Hungarians  when  they  could  get  persons 
of  that  nationality  competent  to  do  the  work.  The 
Hungarian  could  be  kicked  and  cuffed  and  cheated 
in  a  way  that  the  English-speaking  miner  would 
not  tolerate.  Ignorance  of  the  language  made  it 
impossible  for  the  Hungarian,  or  "Hunk,"  as  he  was 
called  at  the  mines,  to  make  known  his  troubles  to 

89 


90  ADAM     CLARKE 

anyone  able  to  assist  him.  He  was  no  better  than  a 
serf,  always  kept  in  debt  at  the  company  store5  and 
allowed  to  earn  just  enough  to  prevent  the  debt 
from  accumulating  beyond  the  company's  estimate 
of  his  ability  to  pay.  He  was,  in  short,  an  ideal 
miner  from  the  standpoint  of  the  mine  proprietor. 
The  Welshman,  on  the  other  hand,  while  he  did 
his  work  thoroughly,  kept  careful  watch  of  the 
measurement  of  the  coal,  and  allowed  no  trickery 
if  he  could  detect  it.  He  did  his  full  share  of  work, 
and  wanted  his  full  share  of  pay.  He  was  therefore 
not  wanted  if  he  could  be  spared,  and  the  Welsh 
were  being  spared  as  fast  as  Hungarians  could  be 
taught  to  take  their  places.  Every  week  saw  the 
arrival  of  more  Hunks,  and  the  departure  of  some 
of  the  Welsh.  Already  a  Hunk  was  outside  fore 
man,  and  the  Welsh  engineer  at  the  pit  mouth  had 
a  Hunk  for  assistant.  The  fact  that  accidents  were 
more  frequent  than  when  the  Welsh  were  in  charge 
of  the  mine  seemed  to  make  no  difference  to  me 
ownership.  If  accidents  were  more  frequent,  there 
was  less  noise  about  them  than  when  they  were 
fewer.  A  dead  Hunk  more  or  less  was  of  very 
little  account.  Plenty  were  coming  to  take  his  place, 
and  nothing  was  heard  of  the  matter  beyond  the 
miners'  shanties.  It  was  possible  now  to  take  more 
risks,  and  get  out  coal  faster  at  Craddocksboro,  for 
if  the  deathlist  grew,  so  did  the  profits.  Asa  Crad- 
dock,  if  he  gave  a  thought  to  the  right  and  wrong 
of  the  matter,  could  quiet  his  conscience  with  the 
reflection  that  the  same  thing  was  going  on  all  over 
Pennsylvania,  and  that  while  thousands  of  miners 


THE     COAL     MINE  9 1 

were  perishing,  the  wealth  of  coal  magnates  was 
accumulating.* 

If  he  went  to  church  the  pastor  never  preached 
from  the  text  (Genesis,  iv. ;  10,  n;  "And  He  (the 
Lord)  said,  What  hast  thou  done ?  The  voice  of  thy 
brother's  blood  crieth  unto  Me  from  the  ground. 
And  now  art  thou  cursed  from  the  earth,  which 
hath  opened  her  mouth  to  receive  thy  brother's 
blood  from  thy  hand." 

One  of  the  mine  foremen  had  been  disabled  a 
few  days  before  Prynne's  arrival,  and  the  superin 
tendent  tried  a  Hunk,  who  had  not  proved  satis 
factory.  Prynne  easily  showed  that  he  understood 
the  inside  of  a  mine,  and  was  told  to  take  the  place. 
On  the  day  before  he  took  charge  he  started  on 
a  thorough  inspection  of  his  part  of  the  mine.  De 
scending  in  the  cage  he  noticed  that  it  was  in  fair 
condition,  and  had  the  usual  safety  catch  device 
to  prevent  the  falling  of  the  cage  in  the  event  of 
the  breaking  of  the  rope  by  which  the  cage  was  sus 
pended.  In  a  properly  constructed  cage,  it  should  be 
understood,  the  safety  catches  attached  to  the  cage 
are  held  away  from  the  guides  in  the  sides  of  the 

*  It  is  a  significant  and  appalling  fact  that,  notwithstanding  the 
modern  inventions  which,  if  used,  ought  to  make  for  greater 
safety,  the  number  jf  deaths  from  coal  mine  accidents  has  greatly 
Increased  within  recent  years.  The  death  rate  has  grown  from 
2.53  per  cent,  of  employes  in  1893  to  3.52  per  cent,  in  1902. 
Over  twelve  thousand  lives  have  been  lost  in  coal  mining  opera 
tions  from  1893  to  1902,  inclusive.  I  believe  the  chief  cause 
to  be  the  vast  inpouring  of  foreign  immigration,  which  makes 
it  unnecessary  for  the  mine-owners  to  husband  the  lives  of  the 
miners. 


92  ADAM     CLARKE 

shaft,  while  the  weight  of  the  cage  hangs  on  the 
rope,  but  are  released  and  spring  against  the  guides 
as  soon  as  the  strain  is  taken  from  the  rope  either 
by  its  being  broken  or  otherwise.  A  safety  hook 
detaches  the  cage  from  the  rope  if  it  is  hoisted  too 
far,  and  "landing  dogs"  prevent  it  from  being  ac 
cidentally  lowered  or  dropped  into  the  shaft,  when 
it  has  been  once  hoisted  above  them  at  the  pit  head. 
Prynne  found  the  hoisting  engine  in  charge  of  a 
competent  Welsh  engineer,  assisted  by  a  Hungarian 
who  seemed  to  be  learning  how  to  run  the  engine. 
Having  satisfied  himself  that  everything  was  in 
order,  above  and  below,  he  went  back  to  his  board 
ing  house. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE   HUNK'S   REVENGE. 

PRYNNE  was  a  watchful  foreman.  He  made  it  a 
rule  every  morning  to  descend  before  his  men,  ar 
riving  at  the  pit-head  about  half -past  five,  which 
made  it  necessary  for  the  engineer  or  his  assistant 
to  be  on  hand  at  five,  half  an  hour  earlier  than  their 
usual  time,  to  get  up  steam  for  the  cage.  The  as 
sistant  engineer,  a  Hunk  named  Balassa,  had  usual 
ly  to  do  this  extra  work,  and  for  that  reason  did 
not  feel  friendly  towards  Prynne.  He  was  too 
crafty,  however,  to  make  this  fact  known  to  Prynne, 
although  it  was  very  evident  to  the  other  Hunks. 

One  evening,  after  supper,  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door  of  the  cabin  in  which  Balassa  lived,  with 
the  family  of  an  old  neighbor  from  Hungary.  When 
the  door  opened  a  voice  called  to  Balassa  from  the 
darkness.  He  went  out. 

Ten  yards  away,  his  features  not  clearly  dis 
cernible  in  the  cloudy  night,  stood  Michael  Horg- 
win.  Balassa  knew  him  well,  for  Horgwin  had 
brought  him  in  a  gang  from  Hungary. 

They  talked,  of  course,  in  their  native  tongue. 

Balassa  inquired  where  Horgwin  had  been  lately. 

"I  have  been  here  for  three  days,"  said  Horgwin, 
93 


94  ADAM     CLARKE 

"although  you  have  not  seen  me.  You  know,  Ba- 
lassa,  that  I  was  an  engineer  in  Hungary  before  I 
found  it  would  pay  better  to  bring  people  over  to 
America,  and  I  would  like  to  try  it  again  to  see  if 
I  understand  the  business.  You  must  be  tired  start 
ing  that  engine  every  morning,  and  losing  sleep, 
and  I'll  take  your  place  for  half  an  hour  to-morrow 
morning,  if  you  will  let  me.  Here's  a  dollar." 

Balassa  would  have  taken  the  proposal  without 
a,  dollar,  but  he  readily  accepted  the  money.  He 
gave  no  thought  to  Horgwin's  motive  in  making 
the  request,  but  was  content  to  note  that  it  meant 
rest  for  him  in  the  morning  at  a  time  when  he  had 
not  been  accustomed  to  sleep. 

Horgwin  did  not  wait  until  five  o'clock  on  the 
following  morning.  The  wire  lifting  rope  was 
wound  on  the  drum,  the  cage  was  ready,  and  all  in 
order  at  the  pit-head  for  the  coming  day,  when 
Horgwin  arrived  shortly  after  four.  No  one  was 
present  as  he  entered  the  shed. 

He  went  to  the  winding  drum,  and  with  a  very 
sharp  knife  he  began  cutting  the  wire  rope,  not 
clean,  but  with  jagged,  uneven  edge.  He  did  not 
sever  it  clear  through,  but  left  two  or  three  strands, 
not  strong  enough  to  hold  the  cage  for  more  than 
a  few  seconds  after  starting.  He  did  the  cutting 
from  underneath  the  drum,  so  that  the  damage  could 
not  readily  be  observed  from  above. 

Then,  about  five  o'clock,  he  started  the  fire  in 
the  engine.  While  steam  was  getting  up  Horgwin 
stepped  into  the  cage,  and  with  a  hammer  and  some 
small  wedges  of  iron  he  fixed  the  safety  catches  so 


THE     HUNK'S     REVENGE  95 

that  they  would  not,  as  he  calculated,  spring  against 
the  guides,  upon  the  rope  being  broken. 

He  did  all  this  as  coolly  as  if  he  were  mending, 
instead  of  destroying  the  devices  on  which  the  safety 
of  human  life  depended.  Horgwin  had  been  in  many 
dangerous  situations  in  his  life,  and  although  a 
scoundrel,  he  was  not  a  coward.  His  feeling  at  this 
time  was  one  of  quiet,  deliberate  satisfaction  over 
his  approaching  vengeance  on  the  man  who  had 
interfered  with  his  lovemaking  on  the  steamer.  He 
already  saw,  in  his  mind's  eye,  Prynne's  body  at 
the  bottom  of  the  shaft,  four  hundred  feet  below. 

Promptly  at  half -past  five  Prynne  entered  the  cage, 
and  called  to  Balassa,  as  he  supposed,  to  start  the 
drum.  Horgwin  kept  his  back  to  Prynne,  so  that 
the  latter  did  not  see  his  face,  but  Prynne  would 
probably  not  have  known  him  if  he  had. 

Horgwin  turned  on  steam,  the  drum  began  to 
revolve,  and  the  cage  to  descend. 

Horgwin  moved  away  from  reach  of  the  rope  in 
case  it  should  spring  back  with  force  upon  breaking. 
No  one  but  Prynne  had  yet  arrived  at  the  pit 
head. 

The  rope  continued  to  unwind,  and  the  cage  to 
descend.  Each  second  seemed  a  minute  to  Horgwin. 
Was  it  possible  that  the  two  or  three  strands  he  had 
left  could  hold  the  cage,  because  there  was  only 
one  man  in  it? 

About  half  the  rope  was  unwound,  when  the 
snap  came.  There  was  a  crashing  noise  from  be 
low.  The  wire  rope  quivered  and  writhed  like  an 
angry  serpent. 


96  ADAM     CLARKE 

Then  all  was  still.  No  man  could  survive  that  fall 
of  two  hundred  feet. 

Horgwin  felt  sure  that  he  was  avenged. 

Balassa  ran  up  at  this  instant.  He  had  been  com 
ing  to  go  to  work,  and  saw  that  something  was 
wrong. 

"The  rope  has  broken/'  said  Horgwin,  in  Hun 
garian,  "You  better  run  for  help,  but  not  tell  anyone 
you  were  away  from  the  engine.  If  you  do,  they 
will  discharge  you.  Run  now !" 

Balassa  raised  an  alarm,  as  Horgwin  sneaked 
away,  and  Welsh  and  Hunks  crowded  to  the  spot. 
The  Hunks  were  evidently  not  sorry  when  they 
heard  that  Prynne  was  dead  at  the  bottom  of  the 
shaft.  The  Welsh  worked  like  Vulcans,  and  the 
Hunks  had  to  help  in  fitting  out  a  temporary  lift 
which  was  sent  down  the  shaft  with  two  men  on 
board. 

About  two  hundred  and  thirty  feet  below  they 
found  the  cage,  with  Pryne  in  it,  badly  shaken,  but 
not  seriously  injured.  The  jar  caused  by  the  rope 
snapping  had  loosened  the  pieces  of  iron  with  which 
Horgwin  had  wedged  the  safety  catches,  and  after 
dropping  a  few  feet  the  catches  had  caught  on  the 
guides,  and  the  cage  was  stopped. 

The  shout  of  joy  from  the  rescuers  was  heard 
at  the  pit-head,  and  was  echoed  to  the  hillside  by 
the  assembled  Welshmen.  The  lift  was  pulled  up, 
the  wire  rope  was  Towered  with  the  lift,  and  con 
nected  at  the  top  of  the  cage,  and  after  the  lift  had 
been  drawn  up,  and  moved  out  of  the  way,  the 


THE     HUNK'S     REVENGE  97 

winding  drum  was  started,  and  the  cage  brought  to 
the  top. 

Prynne  was  able  to  step  out  unassisted.  He  sus 
pected  nothing.  He  had  noticed  nothing  wrong 
with  the  safety  catches,  and  supposed  they  had  been 
slow  to  work,  and  that  the  rope  had  broken  acci 
dentally.  Nobody  but  Michael  Horgwin  held  the 
secret  of  his  baffled  crime. 

One  result  of  the  accident  was  to  convince  Her 
bert  Prynne  that  it  was  not  good  to  be  alone.  As 
he  lay,  bruised  and  sore  on  his  cot  in  a  miner's 
cottage,  he  thought  he  would  like  to  have  had  the 
fair  hands  of  Mary  Clarke  attending  to  his  needs, 
instead  of  the  kindly  but  rough  ministration  of  his 
fellow-miners,  and  when  he  got  better  he  wrote  to 
Mary,  begging  her  to  come  to  him. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

BEFORE   THE  GREAT   PITTSBURGH    STRIKE. 

MRS.  CLARKE  and  her  family  were  thoroughly 
sick  of  Fall  River,  when  the  mail  brought  two  let 
ters,  within  a  few  days  of  each  other,  one  from 
Robert  and  Alexander,  inviting  their  mother,  sisters 
and  Wallace,  to  the  home  they  had  prepared  for 
them  on  Mount  Washington,  Pittsburgh,  and  an 
other  from  Herbert  Prynne,  asking  Mary  to  come 
to  Craddocksboro,  and  fulfil  her  promise  to  be  his 
wife.  Robert  and  Alexander  told  how  they  were 
saving  a  little  money,  how  mother,  with  Martha  to 
help,  could  keep  house  for  them,  that  Mary  could 
stay  until  she  was  ready  to  be  Mrs.  Prynne,  and 
Wallace  could  go  to  an  excellent  public  school. 

Mrs.  Clarke  was  anxious  to  take  Martha  out  of 
the  mill.  Mary,  on  her  part,  could  not  conceal  her 
pleasure  at  the  thought  of  joining  Herbert,  for  her 
heart  told  her  that  her  love  had  grown,  instead  of 
diminishing,  with  separation. 

It  was  resolved  that  they  should  all  go  to  Pitts 
burgh  together,  and  that,  after  a  few  days,  Mary 
should  go  to  Herbert.  A  letter  inclosing  five  dollars 
was  received  from  Bassett,  who  for  himself,  his 
wife  and  baby,  thanked  Mrs.  Clarke  most  deeply 
98 


GREAT    PITTSBURGH     STRIKE  99 

for  her  kindness  to  them.  This,  with  the  sale  of 
their  furniture,  and  the  money  that  remained  of 
that  which  they  brought  to  America,  enabled  them 
to  go  to  Pittsburgh,  where  Robert  and  Alexander 
met  them  at  the  station. 

Andrew  Craig  had  liked  Martha,  from  her  broth 
ers'  description,  before  he  met  her,  and  liked  her 
better  the  more  he  saw  of  her.  The  old,  old  story 
was  repeated,  after  a  few  weeks'  courtship,  and 
Andrew  and  Martha  began  keeping  house  on  Try 
Street.  Mary  went  to  Craddocksboro,  and  wrote 
back  three  days  later  inclosing  a  slice  of  wedding- 
cake,  and  a  message  of  love  from  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Prynne.  Mrs.  Clarke  wept  softly  over  her  daugh 
ter's  letter.  She  called  Allie  and  clasped  her  in 
her  arms,  and  then  wiping  away  the  tears  she  busied 
herself  getting  supper  ready  for  the  family  still  left 
to  her. 

Things  went  on  in  quiet,  humdrum  fashion — "the 
short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor."  Mrs.  Clarke 
was  happy  with  her  children,  and  still  happier  when 
one  day  she  found  herself  the  grandmother  of  a 
little  boy  born  to  Andrew  and  Martha  Craig.  The 
little  one,  she  thought,  had  something  of  Adam's 
look,  and  she  learned  to  love  it  fondly,  and  hoped 
that  it  might  be  as  good  a  man  as  its  grandfather, 
and  more  fortunate. 

Mrs.  Clarke  began  to  love  America,  and  to  feel 
that  attachment  for  her  adopted  country,  the  home 
of  her  children,  and  the  native  land  of  her  grand 
child,  which  she  had  formerly  felt  for  England. 
The  painful  impressions  caused  by  what  she  had  seen 


TOO  ADAM     CLARKE 

at  Fall  River  were  almost  effaced,  and  she  looked 
forward  to  an  old  age  of  comfort  in  the  companion 
ship  of  her  children. 

One  day  she  noticed,  however,  that  the  frank, 
manly  face  of  Andrew  Craig  was  shadowed  with 
gloomy  foreboding.  She  sought  to  know  if  he  was 
in  any  trouble,  and  offered  to  do  all  she  could  to 
help  him.  He  was  often  absent,  too,  of  evenings, 
attending  meetings  of  his  union,  he  told  Martha, 
and  calmness  and  content  gave  way  by  degrees  to 
anxiety  as  to  the  future  in  the  little  circle  of  the 
Clarkes. 

The  daily  papers  told  that  the  Pennsylvania  rail 
road  company  had  reduced  the  wages  of  its  men 
ten  per  cent.,  and  was  said  to  be  contemplating  some 
further  act  that  might  strain  too  severely  the  pa 
tience  of  the  employes. 

The  reduction  of  ten  per  cent,  made  a  serious 
difference  in  the  circumstances  of  the  Craigs,  and 
they  had  to  deny  themselves  comforts  which  had 
grown  to  be  seemingly  indispensable.  But  Martha 
was  cheerful  as  ever,  and  tried  her  best  to  cheer  up 
Andrew,  and  make  husband  and  baby  happy. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   STRIKE. 

ANDREW  CRAIG  was  moody  and  silent  one  evening, 
as  he  stepped  upstairs  to  his  tenement  on  Try  Street. 
Martha  saw  him  from  the  window.  She  had  been  on 
the  watch  for  him,  as  she  was  every  evening,  and 
she  held  up  little  Andrew  to  greet  his  father  coming 
home.  The  baby  looked;  his  bright  eyes  kindled 
with  intelligence;  he  saw  his  papa — he  smiled — he 
turned  to  his  mother.  "Pa — pa,"  he  uttered,  and 
smiled  again.  And  then  he  waited  for  his  father 
to  look  up.  But  Andrew  Craig  had  too  much  on 
his  mind  to  remember  to  throw  a  kiss  to  the  loved 
ones. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Andrew?"  exclaimed 
his  wife,  as  the  husband  and  father,  with  a  far 
away  look,  mechanically  embraced  Martha,  and  ac 
cepted  the  outstretched  arms  of  the  baby.  "You 
are  pale  and  stirred  up  about  something — what  has 
happened  ?" 

"We  are  going  to  strike,"  said  Andrew,  with 
gloomy  deliberation. 

"To  strike — Andrew!"  cried  the  wife,  as  she 
busied  herself  pouring  out  the  tea,  and  placing  the 
humble  fare  before  her  husband.  "You  know  we  can 

101 


102  ADAM    CLARKE 

no  more  than  live  as  things  are — and  a  strike  .would 
mean  nothing  to  live  on." 

"Better  die,  perhaps,"  hissed  Andrew,  bitterly. 
"The  railway  has  us  by  the  throat,  and  it  can  do  no 
worse  than  strangle  us.  Not  content  with  reducing 
our  wages  they  have  redoubled  our  work.  Hear 
this!" 

Andrew  read  the  following  from  an  afternoon 
paper : 

PENNSYLVANIA  RAILROAD. 

Office  of  General  Agent  and  Superintendent. 

Pittsburgh  Division. 

Pittsburgh,  July  16,  1877. 

On  and  after  Thursday,  July  19,  1877,  two  trains 
are  to  be  run  on  Union  and  two  trains  on  National 
line  through,  between  Pittsburgh  and  Altoona,  thir 
ty-six  cars  to  a  train,  a  pusher  from  Pittsburgh  to 
Derry,  and  a  pusher  from  Conemaugh  to  Altoona. 
No  passenger  engines  to  be  run  on  freight.  Balance 
of  trains  to  divide  at  Derry;  first  in  and  first  out. 
Derry  to  be  the  headquarters  eastward  where  engines 
will  be  timed.  Between  Derry  and  Pittsburgh  all 
double-headers,  thirty-six  cars  to  a  train,  or  as  many 
as  they  can  haul,  to  be  increased  or  decreased  in  the 
judgment  of  dispatcher — according  to  lading  in  cars. 

ROBERT  PITCAIRN, 

Superintendent. 

"You  see,  Martha,"  Andrew  explained,  "that  or 
der,  while  it  provides  for  'double-header'  trains,  does 


THE     STRIKE  IO3 

not  provide  for  increasing  the  crew.  An  ordinary 
train,  you  know,  is  eighteen  cars  and  an  engine,  and 
a  'double-header'  would  be  thirty-six  cars,  with  an 
engine  at  each  end.  Therefore  we  who  have  had 
our  wages  already  reduced  ten  per  cent,  are  now  to 
be  required  to  do  double  work  at  the  reduced  wages. 
Even  at  that  a  number  of  us  must  go,  and  maybe  I 
will  be  one,  for  doubling  the  trains  without  doubling 
the  crews  will  be  the  same  as  doing  away  with  every 
other  man." 

The  tears  started  in  Martha's  eyes.  "And  just 
to  think,  Andrew,  how  nicely  we  were  settled.  And 
then  the  sewing  machine  is  not  paid  for  yet — and 
baby's  dress — "  and  she  bit  her  lips  to  keep  down  a 
sob. 

"Martha,"  cried  her  husband,  almost  wildly; 
''Martha—don't  drive  me  mad!  Oh,  God!  Oh, 
God!  What  were  we  born  for?"  he  added,  fiercely. 
"To  work  for  miserable  wages,  night  and  day  almost, 
in  order  to  pile  up  fat  dividends  for  directors  to 
build  palaces  with — while  my  baby — while  we — 
struggle  and  starve." 

"Mamma — ky — "  said  the  baby,  wondering  with 
all  his  eyes  at  the  unwonted  scene,  and  his  lower  lip 
pouting,  as  if  he,  too,  would  join  in  the  weeping 
directly. 

"Yes,  my  darling,"  went  on  the  father,  with  words 
that  seemed  to  taste  of  the  bitterness  he  felt,  "your 
mother  cries,  and  well  she  may.  What  else  is  there 
for  us  all  but  tears.  Ground  into  the  dust  as  we  are 
by  these  railway  monopolies,  that  care  no  more  for 
you  and  me  than  if  we  were  so  much  clay  from  the 


IO4  ADAM     CLARKE 

hillside  over  the  track.  I  saw  Pitcairn  yesterday. 
He  was  looking  over  things  in  the  freight  yard,  and 
Senator  Graft  was  with  him,  on  a  visiting  tour,  I 
suppose,  and  Pitcairn  was  as  mellow  and  friendly 
as  if  Senator  Graft  was  an  English  lord,  and  Pit 
cairn  the  steward  of  his  estate.  And  then  Pitcairn 
looks  at  us  as  if  we  were  curs,  fed  on  the  scraps 
from  his  back-kitchen.  I  suppose  he  thinks  there 
are  so  many  poor,  hungry  men  in  Pittsburgh  that 
there  would  be  no  trouble  filling  our  places  if  we 
did  strike.  But  let  them  have  a  care — let  them  have 
a  care — and  not  make  us  too  desperate.  If  we  con 
clude  to  die,  it  won't  be  by  starvation !" 

"Oh,  Andrew,"  spoke  Martha,  with  a  shudder, 
"you  make  me  tremble.  You  must  not  talk  of  dying 
— you  know  we  have  something  to  live  for."  And 
she  leaned  over,  and  pressed  her  lips  to  baby's  cherry 
mouth. 

"Yes,  I  remember,  dear — but — oh — it  makes  my 
soul  almost  burst  out  when  I  think  that  such  things 
can  be;  and  yet  they  call  this  a  free  country,  and 
say  that  all  men  are  equal  here.  Equal,  indeed! 
If  I  didn't  take  off  my  cap,  and  stand  like  a  deaf 
mute  when  I  went  into  the  superintendent's  office 
I  would  soon  find  out  the  equality.  I  do  believe  the 
worst  tyrants  in  the  world  are  to  be  found  on  the 
soil  of  America." 

Martha  listened  in  deep  pain.  She  thought  of  her 
baby,  she  thought  of  her  husband,  she  thought  of  the 
instalment  coming  due  on  the  sewing  machine.  But 
in  her  breast  she  could  not  blame  Andrew.  Had 
he  not  been  a  faithful  servant  to  the  company  for 
eight  long  years  ?  And  this  was  his  reward — double 


THE     STRIKE  10$ 

work  and  lower  pay — and  perhaps  no  work  and  no 
pay. 


The  calm  that  precedes  the  whirlwind  pervaded 
the  crowded  city.  From  East,  from  West,  from 
North,  and  farther  South  hoarse  mutterings  had 
come  that  the  giant  Industry,  bound  to  the  dirt  by 
Liliputs  of  wealth,  was  heaving  his  hairy  breast, 
as  if  about  to  arise,  and  burst  the  shackles  they 
vainly  imagined  to  be  unbreakable.  There  was  a 
whisper  that,  for  the  first  time  in  American  history, 
labor  would  unite  for  its  own  defence,  and  capital 
would  find  how  helpless  money  might  be  without 
men  to  do  its  bidding.  But  the  magnates  of  the 
Pennsylvania  railway  cared  nothing  for  these  omens. 
Had  they  not,  for  years  past,  had  their  own  way  in 
legislature  and  State?  Was  the  State  Executive 
not  at  their  bidding,  and  was  not  the  militia  under 
the  direction  of  the  Commander-in-Chief  ?  Let  a 
laborer  dare  to  raise  a  finger  against  the  railroad, 
and  a  lesson  would  be  given  such  as  the  British 
monarchy  gave  to  the  Chartist  agitators !  Monopoly 
would  be  sealed  and  confirmed  in  blood,  and  a  warn 
ing  conveyed  never  again  to  interfere  with  the 
great  corporation,  whose  bands  of  steel  belted  the 
Keystone  State. 

Meantime,  the  storm  was  brewing.  There  was  no 
concert  in  the  agitation ;  no  plot ;  no  conspiracy. 
The  greatest  revolutions  of  history  have  been  accom 
plished  without  plot  or  conspiracy.  The  subtle  in 
fluence  which  spreads,  as  by  electric  sympathy,  from 
mind  to  mind,  which  impresses  each  and  every  man 


IO6  ADAM     CLARKE 

with  the  sense  of  a  common  danger  or  a  common 
duty,  is  the  potent  force  which  sets  a  multitude  in 
motion  towards  a  common  object.  What  this  subtle 
influence  is  cannot  be  readily  defined.  Since  the 
world  began  it  has  existed,  and  been  powerful  for 
good — perhaps  also  for  evil.  It  drew  the  Children 
of  Israel  together  to  avenge  the  concubine  of  the 
Levite;  it  thrilled  the  breast  of  the  English  serfs, 
when  Wat  Tyler  raised  in  his  native  Kent  the  ban 
ner  of  the  oppressed ;  it  flew  southward  on  the  wings 
of  the  wind  that  brought  from  Lexington  the  clash 
of  contending  arms.  No  plot  directed  it;  no  con 
spiracy  contrived  it. 

And  thus  it  was  in  Pittsburgh  when  a  few  score 
of  hard-worked  and  under-paid  railway  employes 
resolved  to  make  a  stand  against  a  corporation  with 
millions  in  its  treasury,  and  a  commonwealth  at  its 
beck. 

On  the  morning  of  July  I9th  the  struggle  opened. 
"We  will  not  take  out  our  train,"  said  Andrew  Craig, 
coolly  and  firmly,  to  the  train-dispatcher. 

The  dispatcher,  William  Barker,  stared  and 
gasped,  and  stared  again. 

Was  it  possible  that  a  few,  poor,  tired,  almost 
homeless  men  dared  to  say  nay — to  utter  defiance 
to  the  Pennsylvania  railway? 

"What?"  he  found  breath  to  utter. 

"We  will  not  take  out  our  train,  sir,"  repeated 
Craig,  firmly  and  respectfully. 

Had  a  gang  of  slaves  in  a  cotton-field  in  Ala 
bama,  before  the  war,  announced  to  the  overseer 
their  intention  to  strike,  that  individual  could  not 
have  been  more  amazed  than  was  the  train-dis- 


THE     STRIKE  IO/ 

patchcr  who  represented  the  majesty  of  the  Pennsyl 
vania  railroad. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  a  higher  official, 
curtly  and  rudely,  approaching  Craig  and  the  dis 
patcher. 

"They  won't  take  out  the  train,  sir,"  said  the  latter. 

"Who  says  they  won't?"  exclaimed  the  higher 
official,  with  a  menace  in  his  voice. 

"I  did,  sir,"  replied  Craig,  in  the  same  respectful 
tone. 

"Then  get  out!  Do  you  hear?  Get  out!  You 
are  discharged !"  roared  the  official,  his  cheeks  puff 
ing  with  rage,  while  the  red  blood  showed  under  the 
skin  away  around  his  neck.  "You  miserable  dog, 
how  dare  you  interfere  with  the  business  of  the 
Company!"  with  an  emphasis  as  if  the  word  "com 
pany"  would  strike  the  striker  down.  And  the 
official  approached  Craig  with  clenched  fist,  and 
fierce  anger  in  his  tone. 

"Have  a  care,  sir,"  answered  Craig,  sullenly,  his 
patience  exhausted  by  the  brutal  manner  of  his  re 
ception.  I  am  here  on  business,  and  if  you  do  not 
act  like  a  man,  I  may  be  tempted  to  forget  that  I  am 
one." 

As  the  eye  of  the  bold  hunter  is  said  to  overcome 
the  wild  beast  of  the  forest,  so  did  the  calm,  cour 
ageous  glance  of  Craig  make  the  enraged  railroad 
satrap  halt.  There  was  that  in  Craig's  voice  and 
look  that  spoke  more  plainly  than  his  words. 

The  official,  accustomed  to  slavish  obedience,  to 
order  American  citizens  about  as  if  they  were  fellahs 
of  Egypt,  to  give  a  command  in  one  moment,  and 
see  it  carried  out  the  next,  could  not  understand 


IO8  ADAM     CLARKE 

the  change;  he  could  not  comprehend  that  men  in 
the  employ  of  his  railway  could,  or  would,  dare  for 
a  moment  to  assert  their  manhood. 

He  stopped  irresolute;  then  afraid  that  he  looked 
afraid,  he  again  tried  the  effect  of  shouting. 

"Get  out  of  this  yard,  you  and  your  gang!"  he 
roared.  And  like  a  man  listening  for  an  echo,  he 
stood  still  to  note  the  effect  of  his  voice  on  Craig. 

"We  will  go  when  we  are  ready,"  replied  the  lat 
ter,  deliberately. 

By  this  time  other  crews  were  abandoning  their 
trains,  and  giving  notice  of  their  refusal  to  serve. 
The  strikers  evinced  no  excitement;  they  were  as 
cool  and  good-humored  in  manner  as  they  were 
positive  in  action.  No  freight  trains,  they  declared, 
should  leave  the  yard. 


T"T*1*Tfc*T»'T**T'1* 

The  agitation  had  not  yet  assumed  formidable 
proportions.*    Conciliation  on  the  part  of  the  Com- 

*  The  writer  has  said  on  this  subject,  in  another  work:  "To  an 
unprejudiced  observer,  without  interest  in  local  political  contro 
versies  or  jealousies,  it  seems  that  the  strength  of  the  civil  au 
thority  had  not  been  fully  measured  or  exhausted,  when  the 
military  were  called  into  action.  .  .  .  The  summons  to  the 
military  appears  to  have  been  hasty  as  well  as  urgent,  and  a 
disposition  was  shown  to  protect  the  property  and  assert  the 
rights  of  a  great  corporation  which,  however  defensible  on  the 
ground  of  the  public  convenience  and  welfare,  yet  tended  to  in 
flame  the  popular  sentiment  against  the  power  of  monopoly,  and 
to  justify  the  popular  estimate  of  the  ability  of  monopoly  to 
command  that  extraordinary  aid  for  which  ordinary  citizens,  how 
ever  grave  the  exigency  and  grievous  their  situation,  would 
have  appealed  in  vain." 


THE    STRIKE  ICX) 

pany  might  have  calmed  it ;  and  time  and  argument, 
accompanied  by  a  judicious  display  of  authority, 
might  have  subdued  it,  without  the  loss  of  a  life, 
or  damage  to  property.  The  Mayor  of  the  city,  Mc 
Carthy,  a  man  of  humane  instincts,  favored  a  peace 
able  course,  and  hoped  by  the  intercession  of  work- 
ingmen  having  influence  with  the  strikers,  to  induce 
them  to  abandon  interference  with  the  trains.  He 
comprehended  that  they  were  violating  the  law,  and 
that,  should  they  persist,  the  violation  would  be 
almost  as  reprehensible  and  injurious  as  some  of  the 
lesser  crimes  which  railway  and  other  monopolies 
are  daily  committing  with  impunity  against  the  laws 
of  the  United  States  and  the  rights  of  the  people. 
He  believed  in  enforcing  the  law,  but  did  not  see 
any  reason  for  enforcing  it  more  harshly  and  less 
mercilessly  against  the  poor  driven  to  extremity  than 
against  the  wealthy  monopolist  who  robs  through' 
cupidity.  But  monopoly  thirsted  for  blood,  and  the 
thirst  must  be  slaked, 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE   MILITARY. 

"THEY  have  called  out  the  military !"  spread  from 
mouth  to  mouth  among  the  strikers  camped  at  the 
freight  yard  throughout  that  memorable  night  in 

July. 

"They  have  called  out  the  military !"  was  whisp 
ered  from  mother  to  daughter,  from  brother  to  sister, 
as  the  news  reached  the  humble  abodes  of  the  work 
ers  protesting  against  corporate  tyranny.  And 
mothers  pressed  the  babies  close  to  their  breasts, 
and  breathed  a  prayer  for  the  safety  of  husband  and 
father. 

Under  the  shadow  of  darkness  the  Sheriff,  acting 
under  the  direction  of  the  railway  authorities,  had 
appealed  for  rifles  and  bayonets,  and,  with  the  first, 
faint  glimmer  of  dawn  Major-General  Pearson  is 
sued  his  order  commanding  the  Eighteenth  Regi 
ment  to  report  for  duty  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

But  the  men  of  that  regiment,  and  of  other  com 
mands  which  were  speedily  summoned  to  arms, 
were  largely  workingmen  themselves.  They  knew 
something  of  the  merits  of  the  issue  between  the 
millionaire  monopolists  of  the  Pennsylvania  rail- 

110 


THE    MILITARY  HI 

way,  and  its  recent  employes,  driven  to  despera 
tion.  They  had  no  desire  to  imbrue  their  hands  in 
the  blood  of  fathers  and  brothers,  whose  little  ones 
depended  on  them  for  bread.  In  a  word,  they  were 
not  willing  to  butcher  the  poor  that  monopoly  might 
thrive.  Less  than  three  hundred  answered  the  sum 
mons  of  General  Pearson. 

"Not  a  shot  will  I  fire,"  remarked  Sergeant  Evans, 
who  had  faced  the  hail  of  many  a  battlefield,  and 
bore  the  mark  of  a  wound  received  in  one  of  the  most 
desperate  charges  of  the  Civil  War. 

"Let  the  railway  company  do  its  own  butchering," 
grumbled  a  tall  private,  usually  a  model  of  obedience 
and  of  discipline. 

The  same  sentiment  prevailed  through  every  rank. 
Even  the  commissioned  officers  were  affected  by  it. 
As  when  the  soldiers  of  France  fraternized  with  the 
people  engaged  in  the  struggle  against  a  despotism 
that  had  become  intolerable,  so  the  citizen  soldiery 
of  Pittsburgh  declined  to  fire  upon  their  fellow-citi 
zens  engaged  in  resisting  the  dictation  of  a  despotic, 
millionaire  corporation. 

"You  won't  fire,  Joe — you  know  Andrew's  there," 
said  a  soft,  feminine  voice  from  the  throng  that 
lined  Smithfield  Street,  as  the  Eighteenth  passed. 

Joseph  Denny  turned,  as  he  trudged  along,  musket 
to  shoulder.  His  eyes  met  the  sweet,  plaintive  face 
of  Martha  Craig. 

"Never  fear  me,"  cried  Joe,  "do  you  think  I'd 
hurt  his  daddy?"  and  he  jerked  his  head  toward 
the  baby  that  nestled  in  her  arms.  The  little  fellow, 
his  big  eyes  half  marvelling,  half  afraid  at  the 


112  ADAM     CLARKE 

unusual  array,  recognized  his  "unky,"  even  in  the 
novel  accoutrements. 

"Unky — Joe — ma — ma — oo — dere — "  he  uttered, 
pointing  to  the  soldier. 

Other  soldiers  heard  and  saw,  and  the  smile  that 
lit  their  faces  showed  that  they,  too,  had  a  thought 
for  the  little  ones  at  home.  That  baby's  smile  spiked 
every  musket  in  the  company. 

The  militia  found  the  strikers  passive,  but  im 
movable — not  doing  any  violence,  but  resolute  that 
no  freight  trains  should  leave  the  yard.  The  com 
mands  were  stationed  in  positions  where  they  would 
be  ready  for  action  in  the  event  of  an  imperative 
need  for  their  services. 

It  was  not  yet  too  late  for  arbitration. 

Arbitration ! — Pah ! — Might  as  well  talk  of  sooth 
ing  a  panther  with  skim-milk!  Blood  and  blood 
alone  could  satiate  the  slave-drivers,  whose  serfs 
had  impudently  turned  against  the  lash,  and  had 
refused  to  accept  the  usual  dictum — "Starve  or 
obey!" 


Let  us  enter  a  mansion,  reader,  in  one  of  the  fash 
ionable  streets  of  Philadelphia.  It  can  hardly  be 
called  a  home  of  refinement.  The  signs  of  wealth 
are  too  gross  and  barbarous.  Every  door-knob, 
every  mantel,  every  piece  of  furniture  from  the  story 
beneath  the  attic  to  that  above  the  kitchen  is  osten 
tatious  with  the  evidence  of  the  owner's  riches.  The 
paintings  on  the  walls — such  works  as  great  artists 


THE     MILITARY  113 

exchange  for  the  gold  of  the  parvenu — are  osten 
tatiously  hung,  just  where  the  visitor  will  be  likely 
to  notice  them,  and,  of  course,  to  ask  the  price, 
which  the  lord  of  all  this  wealth  has  ready  at  the 
end  of  his  tongue. 

In  a  parlor,  on  the  first  floor,  around  a  rosewood 
table  with  feet  of  gold,  shaped  like  the  paws  of  a 
lion — fit  emblem  of  monopoly — sat  four  men. 

One  was  of  middle  age,  with  regular,  dark  feat 
ures,  bright,  dark  eyes,  and  the  severe  expression 
of  a  master  accustomed  to  deal  decisively  and  even 
harshly,  with  those  under  his  control.  Opposite  him 
sat  a  younger  man,  evidently  not  of  the  same  posi 
tive  character,  and  who  might  be  suspected  of  hav 
ing  humane  sentiments  when  they  did  not  interfere 
with  politics.  The  two  others,  apparently  sul> 
ordinates  of  the  person  first  described,  were  both 
also  young  men,  accustomed,  like  him,  to  command, 
but,  unlike  him,  also  to  obey.  They  had  that  look, 
peculiar  to  low  tyrannical  natures,  which  can  change 
with  the  rapidity  of  the  chameleon,  from  subser 
viency  to  rudeness,  from  rudeness  back  to  subser 
viency. 

"So  you  say  the  troops  will  not  fight?"  spoke  the 
chief  of  the  party — he  with  the  severe  expression. 

"Yes,  Colonel,"  was  the  answer,  "they  have  no 
spirit  in  this  thing.  I  understand  by  telegram,  as 
I  have  told  you,  that  the  soldiers  positively  refuse  to 
fire  on  the  strikers." 

"Indeed,"  muttered  the  Colonel.  "How  would  it 
do  to  shoot  a  soldier  or  two  for  an  example — to 
encourage  the  others,  you  know,  as  they  say  in 


114  ADAM     CLARKE 

France?"  and  he  smiled — if  a  fierce  grin  could  be 
called  a  smile. 

"Colonel  Bruce,"  responded  the  other,  with  de 
ference,  but  with  more  firmness  than  his  face  indi 
cated  him  to  be  capable  of,  "they  say  things  in 
France,  and  they  do  things  in  France  which  can 
not  yet  be  done  over  here.  I  say — yet — for  I  hope 
and  believe  the  time  will  come  when,  if  a  rabble  of 
workingmen  dares  to  show  its  teeth,  we  can  plant 
cannon  on  the  street  corners,  and  mow  them — yes, 
mow  them." 

The  Colonel  nodded. 

"But  it  has  not  come  to  that,  yet,"  pursued  the 
other,  "though  I  believe  it  will  before  long.  Just 
at  present,  in  a  city  like  Pittsburgh,  the  militia  is  a 
little  too  close  to  the  working  people.  It  will  not  be 
so  after  a  while,  when  the  city  is  bigger,  and  the 
class  in  it  disconnected  from  ordinary  mechanical 
labor  becomes  numerous  enough  to  give  us  all  the 
militia  we  need.  Now,  here  in  Philadelphia,  you 
see " 

The  Colonel  nodded  again.  A  thought  had  struck 
him. 

"Here  in  Philadelphia,"  repeated  the  speaker,  "we 
have  a  militia  closely  connected  with  the  wealthy 
class,  and  directly  associated  with,  and  dependent 
on  that  class  for  support.  Not  a  lot  of  mechanics 
in  uniform — as  in  Pittsburgh." 

"Then,"  said  the  Colonel,  slowly  and  deliberately, 
"why  not  send  the  Philadelphia  troops  to  Pitts 
burgh?" 

A  cloud  passed  over  the  face  of  the  former  speak- 


THE     MILITARY  1 15 

cr.     He  seemed  anxious  to  please;  yet  he  did  not 
like  the  idea. 

"Why  not  try  conciliation?"  he  suggested. 

The    Colonel    almost    leaped    from    his    chair. 
"Never,"  he  cried,  "never  will  I  yield  the  thou 
sandth  part  of  an  inch  to  that  rabble !" 

"Ah,"  he  murmured,  "for  half  an  hour  of  Na 
poleon  Bonaparte !" 

No  one  spoke  for  a  few  moments.  Then  the  Col 
onel  resumed : 

"These  men  must  have  a  lesson — I  say — a  lesson, 
and  not  a  lesson  written  in  black,  either.  They 
must  have  a  lesson  that  will  be  remembered  for  all 
time.  What  is  the  use  of  carrying  the  legislature 
on  our  shoulders — what  is  the  use  of  taking  the 
share  we  do  in  the  politics  of  Pennsylvania,  if  a 
rabble  of  a  few  hundred  workingmen  are  to  be 
allowed  to  say  that  they  will  not  work  for  the  wages 
we  choose  to  give  and  on  the  terms  we  choose  to 
make?  These  men  after  awhile  will  want  to  share 
the  profits  of  the  Company !"  And  the  Colonel  fell 
back,  astonished  to  silence  at  the  thought. 

"Now  is  the  time,"  he  added,  "now  is  the  time 
to  cure  this  evil,  once  for  all.  And  there  is  only 
one  way  to  do  it." 

"The  Governor,"  ventured  the  first  speaker, 
"would  alone  have  authority  to  order  troops  from 
Philadelphia  to  Pittsburgh;  and  he  is  absent." 

"I  have  sent  to  the  Governor  to  return  home  im 
mediately,"  remarked  Colonel  Bruce. 

"But  think  of  the  slaughter,  if  the  strikers  should 
be  fired  on !"  said  the  other. 

"You  know  what  the  General  Court  of  Massa- 


n6 


ADAM     CLARKE 


chusetts  said,  when  they  hanged  the  Quakers?"  re 
plied  Colonel  Bruce.  "That  if  they  had  not  come 
to  Massachusetts,  they  would  not  have  been  hanged. 
Therefore,  they  were  guilty  of  suicide.  You  see?" 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  with  a  sigh,  for  he  saw 
that  remonstrance  was  unavailing,  "I  am  sorry  for 
their  wives  and  families." 

"If  they  choose  to  leave  their  wives  and  families 
destitute  that's  their  own  fault,  is  it  not  ?"  asked  the 
Colonel. 

"From  all  that  I  can  hear,  they  were  little  better 
than  destitute  before  the  strike,"  muttered  the  other, 
under  his  breath. 

"What  did  you  say?"  snapped  the  Colonel,  quick 
ly. 

"Nothing,"  was  the  reply.  "I  was  merely  about 
to  remark  that  I  could  not  see  my  way  clear  to  be 
of  any  farther  service.  It  all  now  rests  with  the 
Governor.  By  the  way,  Colonel,  I  wish  to  thank  you 
for  the  renewal  of  my  annual  pass,  which  I  received 
yesterday." 

The  Colonel  inclined  his  head  in  recognition,  and 
rose  to  accompany  his  visitor  to  the  door.  Return 
ing,  he  busied  himself  a  few  moments  with  paper 
and  pen.  Then,  after  blotting,  he  enclosed  a  letter 
in  an  envelope  and  addressed  it. 

Turning  to  one  of  the  young  men  in  waiting,  he 
said:  "See,  Mr.  ,  that  this  reaches  the  Gov 
ernor  to-night.  You  need  not  come  back." 

"You,  Mr.  ,"  he  added  to  the  other,  "will 

have  to  accept  the  hospitality  of  ray  roof  for  the 
present,  as  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  trustworthy 
man  at  hand  until  the  trouble  is  over." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

MONOPOLY   TASTES   BLOOD. 

THROUGHOUT  Friday  the  strikers  kept  their  vigil 
in  the  freight  yard  of  the  Pennsylvania  railroad. 
No  violence  was  done  or  attempted.  They  relieved 
each  other  in  brief  visits  to  their  homes,  and  occa 
sionally  a  female  form  might  be  seen  flitting  about, 
anxious  to  see  whether  any  harm  had  come  to  the 
bread-winner.  It  was  an  impressive  spectacle.  A 
few  hundred  weary,  overworked  men,  in  grimy, 
tattered  attire,  and  the  frayed  caps  that  denoted 
their  servitude,  camped  on  the  tracks  of  a  corpora 
tion  that  had  long  boasted  its  supreme  control  over 
a  great  and  populous  commonwealth. 

Many  of  the  local  military  had  wandered  off  to 
their  homes.  The  few  who  remained  were  on  the 
hillside,  awaiting  in  sleep,  or  wakeful  anxiety  the 
approach  of  morning.  It  was  a  sultry  summer  night, 
and  no  fires  were  needed  to  keep  the  soldiers' 
bivouac. 

The  city  slept,  save  where  the  red  glow  of  fur 
nace,  and  the  flame  leaping  from  some  factory 
chimney  told  of  the  industries  that  know  no  rest. 
Little  did  Pittsburgh  dream  of  the  terrible  events  of 
the  morrow.  Little  did  some  mothers  dream  that 

117 


Il8  ADAM     CLARKE 

they  were  clasping  their  loved  ones  for  the  last 
night  on  earth ;  that  the  husband  would  never  again 
rest  by  their  side  in  life.  It  is  well  that  we  cannot 
imagine  the  future.  It  is  a  merciful  provision  of 
the  All-seeing  that  permits  ignorance  to  the  last  for 
struggling,  suffering  humanity. 

Andrew  Craig  moved  here  and  there  among  the 
strikers. 

"Whatever  happens,  friends,"  he  said,  "let  us 
have  no  bloodshed." 

"It  is  well  enough  to  talk  so,  Andrew,"  answered 
a  gaunt  Irishman,  with  high  cheek  bones  and  bull 
dog  jaw,  "but  I,  for  one,  don't  propose  to  be  clubbed 
or  bayoneted  for  nothing." 

"You  may  be  sure  there  will  be  no  bayoneting," 
rejoined  Andrew.  "The  boys  up  there  are  not  go 
ing  to  bayonet  their  fellow-workmen,  when  they 
don't  know  but  what  it  may  be  their  own  turn  next." 

"But  what  if  they  bring  troops  from  somewhere 
else?"  asked  the  Irishman,  sullenly. 

"They  won't  dare  to  do  it,"  remarked  Andrew. 
"Pittsburgh  is  able  to  take  care  of  its  own  affairs, 
and  if  left  alone,  everything  will  be  settled  all  right." 

I  he  Irishman  shook  his  head.  Craig,  however, 
persisted  in  throwing  his  influence  for  peace  and 
order. 


With  the  rising  sun  the  news  arrived,  and  flew 
from  shop  to  forge,  from  forge  to  furnace — "The 
Philadelphia  troops  are  coming  to  shoot  down  the 
strikers !" 


MONOPOLY     TASTES     BLOOD  119 

The  puddler,  trickling  with  sweat,  blackened  with 
smoke,  looking  more  like  a  being  of  Tartarus  than 
a  man,  paused  in  his  round  of  toil.  The  machinist 
left  the  factory,  the  blacksmith  his  anvil ;  the  laborer 
on  the  wharf  turned  from  unloading  the  impatient 
steamer.  From  voice  to  voice  sped  the  report :  "The 
Philadelphia  troops  are  coming !" 

It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  work  and  wages. 
Monopoly  had  summoned  to  its  aid  the  bullet  and 
bayonet  from  abroad.  The  pampered  holiday  militia 
of  the  second  city  of  the  Union  were  to  be  pitted 
against  the  brawn  and  muscle  of  Pittsburgh. 

Thousands  of  workingmen  felt  that  it  was  their 
cause  also,  and  hastened  to  the  scene  of  the  conflict 
that  was  to  come.  Many  of  them  were  armed.  Few 
were  without  some  weapon. 

Still  Andrew  Craig  pleaded  for  peace.  "Let  us 
not  strike  the  first  blow,"  he  said,  and  his  words 
were  not  without  their  effect. 

No  city  in  the  country  has  more  of  the  slumbering 
lion  than  Pittsburgh.  Eastern  centres  of  industry 
are  mainly  dependent  on  the  manufacture  of  cloth. 
It  is  a  species  of  toil  that  does  not  bring  out  the 
sinew  of  wire  and  the  chest  of  oak.  As  a  rule  cotton 
and  woollen  operatives  are  not  specimens  of  manly 
strength,  and  the  tendency  of  such  employment  is  to 
create  puny,  unhealthy  men  and  women.  Not  so 
the  iron  mills  of  the  Vulcan  City.  The  men  who 
move  in  the  grime  and  dirt  and  smoke,  who  toss 
great  iron  bars  as  if  they  were  playthings,  and 
handle  the  white-hot  iron  as  the  grocer  weighs  out 
molasses,  are  not  puny  men.  However  wretched 


I2O  ADAM     CLARKE 

their  surroundings,  however  ill-requited  their  labor, 
their  physical  strength  is  at  a  high  development, 
and  once  excited,  their  passions  once  aroused,  they 
are  terrible  foes. 

The  day  rolled  on,  and  every  hour  brought  nearer 
the  military  who  expected  to  enjoy  a  holiday  at  the 
expense  of  the  strikers  in  Pittsburgh.  The  hillside 
above  the  tracks  was  thronged  with  men  and  women 
and  children,  many  of  the  latter  attracted  by  anx 
iety  for  the  fate  of  fathers,  of  husbands  and  brothers 
and  sons  below. 

The  train  with  the  troops  rolled  into  the  Union 
Station.  They  were  weary  and  hungry.  Their 
holiday  was  proving  tiresome.  Some  of  them  ex 
pressed  a  wish  that  they  were  back  in  Philadelphia. 
The  railway  company  had  a  warm  lunch  ready,  and 
thus  refreshed,  the  militia  started  for  the  freight 
yard.  They  looked  handsome  in  their  gay  accoutre 
ments,  their  bayonets  glancing  back  the  warm  rays 
of  the  July  sun,  their  belts  as  neat  as  if  they  were 
about  to  attend  an  annual  inspection,  or  a  military 
picnic  on  the  Schuylkill. 

The  crowd  on  the  hill  gazed  eagerly  and  curious- 

ly. 

"Halt!  Right — face!"  cried  the  commanding 
officer. 

The  troops  halted,  with  their  faces  toward  the 
hill. 

The  strikers  were  silent,  save  for  here  and  there 
a  shout  of  derision  or  execration. 

"Charge  bayonets !"  shouted  the  commander. 

The  troops  attempted  to  advance.     The  strikers 


MONOPOLY     TASTES     BLOOD  121 

remained  immovable.  A  volley  of  stones  from  the 
hillside  fell  among  the  military,  bruising  some,  and 
damaging  the  natty  uniforms  of  others.  The  sol 
diers  halted  irresolutely. 

At  that  moment  the  voice  of  a  high  railway  of 
ficial  was  heard. 

"Tell  them  to  fire "  he  uttered  hoarsely. 

"Fire!" 

Hardly  was  the  word  out  than  it  was  obeyed. 
The  soldiers  discharged  a  scattering  volley,  in  no 
particular  direction,  but  mostly  toward  the  people 
on  the  hill.  Nothing  was  heard  for  about  a  minute 
but  the  irregular  rattle  of  rifles. 

Then  above  everything,  above  the  groans  and 
moans  of  the  wounded,  the  pitiful  pleas  of  the  dying, 
the  curses  of  men  and  the  wails  of  women,  arose  a 
shriek,  so  curdling,  so  piercing,  so  despairing  that 
it  sent  back  the  blood,  for  a  moment,  from  every 
cheek. 

"My  child,  my  child  is  killed!" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Martha  Craig. 

As  a  lion  leaps  to  the  rescue  of  his  whelps,  An 
drew  Craig,  in  a  few  terrific  bounds,  cleared  the 
distance  between  the  strikers  and  his  wife  on  the 
hillside. 

Martha  was  on  her  knees,  her  hands  uplifted  to 
Heaven.  Before  her  lay  their  boy,  the  blood  gush 
ing  from  his  side,  his  chest  quivering  with  the  final 
breath,  the  brightness  of  his  eyes,  which  were  turned 
with  pitiful  gaze  toward  his  mother,  sinking  away 
before  the  film  of  mortality. 


122  ADAM     CLARKE 

"Oh,  God,  let  me  die,  too!"  she  cried,  in  her 
agony. 

********* 

Other  scenes  there  were  as  pitiful  and  as  heart 
rending.  A  little  boy  of  seven  years  was  among 
the  victims  of  the  slaughter.  They  bore  him  ten 
derly  away.  "Send  for  mother! "  he  feebly 

moaned.  A  messenger  hastened  to  bring  the  parent 
to  the  side  of  her  child.  But  death  was  a  swifter 
messenger ;  the  boy  felt  his  life  ebbing  through  the 
fearful  wound.  "Please  listen,"  he  said  feebly  to 
the  kind  ones  who  hovered  over  him.  "If  I  die 
before  she  comes,  tell  mother  to  meet  me  in  Heaven 

"  and  then  the  eyes  closed,  never  again  in  this 

world  to  be  opened  on  the  parent  he  loved. 

Nearby  lay  an  aged  workingman,  in  grimy  shirt 
and  smoky  trousers,  the  damp  of  death  on  his  brow, 
his  gray  hairs  dabbled  with  the  scarlet  stream  that 
flowed  from  a  wound  in  his  temple. 

Nearly  a  score  of  persons,  most  of  them  inno 
cent  spectators,  lay  in  the  agonies  of  death,  and 
scores  of  wounded  dragged  themselves,  or  were 
helped  away  to  their  homes  and  to  hospitals. 


Andrew  Craig,  from  an  apostle  of  peace,  had  be 
come,  in  a  moment,  a  tiger  hot  for  revenge.  Will 
ing  hands  bore  away  his  fainting  wife  and  his 


MONOPOLY     TASTES     BLOOD  123 

murdered  boy.  For  him  there  was  no  time  to 
mourn.  The  murderers  of  his  child  were  before 
him.  Seizing  a  bar  of  iron  from  an  irresolute  on 
looker  he  darted  at  the  phalanx  of  bayonets.  Be 
fore  the  soldiers,  already  terrified  by  the  onward 
surge  of  the  multitude,  and  demoralized  by  the 
lamentable  evidence  of  what  their  firing  had  done, 
could  summon  presence  of  mind  for  resistance, 
Craig  had  seized  a  gun  from  one  of  them  and 
dashed  the  man's  brains  out  with  the  iron  bar. 

His  action  was  the  signal  for  a  general  onslaught. 
The  mob  rushed  with  irresistible  fury  upon  the 
military.  The  latter  turned  and  fled.  The  wide 
doors  of  the  round-house  offered  a  welcome  refuge. 
There  they  found  shelter  for  the  moment.  Close 
on  their  heels  came  the  enraged  pursuers.  The 
sliding  doors  were  pushed  together.  One  soldier 
remained  outside. 

"Kill  him!  Let  me  brain  him!  Death  to  the 

murderers !"  were  the  cries  from  a  score  of 

throats,  as  men  climbed  on  each  other  to  get  at  the 
shivering  wretch,  a  few  brief  minutes  ago  a  gay 
peacock  in  regimentals. 

A  dozen  weapons  were  upheld  to  inflict  the  final 
blow.  The  soldier,  a  mere  youth,  whose  tender 
appearance  showed  that  he  had  come  from  a  deli 
cate  home,  fell  on  his  knees. 

"Spare  me!"  he  uttered,  in  quivering  tones. 
"Spare  me,  for  my  mother's  sake!" 

"Back  men — back "  shouted  the  voice  of  An 
drew  Craig,  as  with  almost  superhuman  energy  he 


124  ADAM     CLARKE 

broke  his  way  through  the  mass.  "What — a  boy! 
We  are  fighting  men,  not  children.  We  leave  that 
to  the  militia.  For  your  mother's  sake,  did  you 
say?" 

Then,  as  he  placed  himself  in  front  of  the  trem 
bling  youth,  he  shouted  again :  "I  have  lost  a  boy 
to-day ;  but  he  who  harms  this  boy  must  reckon  with 
me  I" 

And,  as  the  mob  fell  back,  Andrew  Craig  led  the 
soldier  to  the  hill,  beyond  the  confines  of  the  riot, 
and  pointed  him  to  a  house  where  he  might  hide 
in  safety. 

Then  Andrew  Craig  hastened  back  to  the  scene 
of  conflict. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

TWO     MILES     OF     FIRE. 

FROM  river  to  river,  through  street  and  lane  and 
alley,  and  across  to  the  South  Side  and  the  sister 
city,  flew  the  word  that  the  soldiers  were  slaughter 
ing  the  people.  From  every  hand  the  workingmen 
hastened,  with  weapons  and  without,  to  the  rescue 
of  their  fellows.  From  garrets  and  cellars,  also, 
crawled  forth  those  birds  of  prey,  those  buzzards 
of  civilization  who  live  on  the  offal  of  society,  and 
for  whose  existence  and  degradation  society  itself 
is  chiefly  responsible.  Few  men  are  willing  Ish- 
maelites.  It  is  not  in  human  nature  to  be  a  pariah 
by  choice.  The  condition  is  an  abnormal  one,  and 
its  cause  must  be  sought  for  somewhere  outside  of 
the  natural  or  acquired  depravity  of  the  outcast. 
The  outlaw  in  rags  may  often  be  only  the  victim 
of  the  higher  outlaw  in  broadcloth,  and  that  the 
former  should,  when  occasion  offers,  avenge  him 
self  upon  the  latter,  is  but  in  accord  with  the  grain 
and  texture  of  all  the  sons  of  Adam. 

They  thronged  to  the  scene,  as  the  unclean  bird 
scents  the  battlefield — these  Ishmaelites  of  Pitts 
burgh.  They  skirted  the  front  of  danger;  they 
stood  ready  to  plunder,  and,  if  need  be,  to  burn  and 
destroy.  But  the  riot  now  needed  no  stimulus. 

125 


126  ADAM     CLARKE 

The  men  who  had  seen  innocent  lives  taken  on  the 
shadow  of  provocation,  who  for  the  first  time  com 
prehended  fully  the  merciless  character  of  the  mon 
opoly  with  which  they  were  dealing,  were  deter 
mined  that  the  visible  signs  of  that  monopoly  should 
be  erased  from  the  map  of  Pittsburgh.  Toward  the 
military  as  the  tools  of  prostituted  authority,  whose 
rifles  had  been  the  weapons  of  death,  the  strikers 
felt  a  deep  and  vengeful  animosity;  and  they 
planned  at  the  same  time  to  destroy  the  property  of 
the  railway,  and  drive  the  soldiers  from  the  city. 

Shut  in  the  round-house,  a  stout  building  of  brick, 
with  substantial  portals  of  wood,  the  militiamen  felt 
that  they  could  bid  defiance  for  a  time  to  the  raging 
multitude  that  filled  the  yard  and  the  streets,  and 
covered  the  adjoining  hill.  They  hoped  that  per 
haps  the  mob  would  disperse;  that  rescue  would 
come  from  some  quarter,  and  in  any  event  the  mus 
kets  and  pistols  in  the  hands  of  their  enemies  could 
make  no  impression  on  the  walls  of  their  fortress. 
And  the  lull  that  followed  the  closing  of  the  doors 
lent  color,  for  a  time,  to  their  hopes. 

But  Andrew  Craig  was  not  to  be  baffled.  He 
had  spared  the  life  of  a  boy;  only  because  he  was 
too  manly  to  seek  revenge  except  upon  men. 

"We  must  not  stay  our  hands,"  he  cried  to  his 
fellows,  "until  the  city  is  clear  of  these  murderers, 
and  until  every  building  and  every  car  belonging 
to  the  Pennsylvania  Railway  Company  is  de 
stroyed."  The  yell  that  answered  him  came  from 
the  throats  of  men  who  had  the  strength  and  will 
to  carry  out  their  purpose. 


TWO     MILES    OF     FIRE  127 

"What  means  that  break?"  said  a  soldier,  look 
ing  from  a  window  of  the  round-house,"  the  mob 
seem  to  be  going  up  the  track." 

"Perhaps  they  have  had  enough,"  remarked  Cap 
tain  Westbver,  head'  clerk  in  a  Philadelphia  dry 
goods  house,  and  who  felt  that  he  had  enough  him 
self. 

"Look  there!"  cried  a  militiaman. 

All  eyes  that  could  were  strained  at  the  windows 
commanding  a  view  of  the  tracks. 

A  tongue  of  flame  shot  up  from  a  burning  car; 
explosion  followed  explosion.  What !  The  car,  now 
a  mass  of  fire,  is  approaching  the  round-house. 
Once  there  and  they  will  be  smothered  and  roasted 
like  rats  in  the  wall  of  a  burning  barn.  Faster — 
faster  it  comes !  Great  God — is  there  no  escape ! 

"Death  while  fighting  would  be  better  than  this," 
exclaimed  a  young  corporal,  whose  soldier  experi 
ence  had  heretofore  been  confined  to  a  military  fair 
and  ball,  where  he  pressed  the  waist  of  one  of  the 
belles  of  the  Quaker  City. 

The  rioters  gave  a  yell — a  yell  of  triumph,  of 
vengeance  about  to  be  gratified.  They  deploy  about 
the  round-house,  so  as  to  cut  off  any  who  may  run 
forth  to  escape. 

"Thank  God !"  Never  was  the  exclamation  more 
sincere,  more  deeply  heartfelt.  The  car  had  run  off 
the  track  within  fifty  feet  of  the  round-house.  It 
might  scorch,  but  it  would  not  destroy.  It  would 
obstruct  other  cars,  should  more  fire-ships  of  the 
rail  be  sent  down  on  a  mission  of  destruction.  That 
terrible  danger  was  averted. 


128  ADAM     CLARKE 

One  after  another  came  down  the  blazing  cars, 
like  swift-rolling  pillars  of  fire;  but  they  could  not 
pass  the  first,  which  stood  directly  in  their  path,  and 
the  heat  was  too  fearful  for  the  rioters  to  make  any 
attempt  to  remove  the  obstruction. 

"A  cannon ! — a  cannon !"  shouted  Craig. 

A  hundred  men  were  off  to  obey  the  order.  Mean 
time,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  artillery,  a  desul 
tory  fire  was  kept  up  on  the  soldiers  in  the  round 
house.  The  inmates  did  not  return  the  fire.  They 
did  not  know  how  long  a  siege  might  be  before  them, 
and  prudently  reserved  their  ammunition.  An  hour 
passed  without  any  change  in  the  situation,  except 
that  flames  and  smoke  shooting  up  from  the  track 
as  far  as  Shady  Side  told  that  the  Company's  prop 
erty  was  being  utterly  destroyed. 

At  length  an  opening  appeared  in  the  ranks  of 
the  rioters,  and  the  commander  of  the  militia  saw 
the  muzzle  of  a  cannon  trained  on  the  round-house. 
A  discharge  of  that  cannon  would  make  the  round 
house  untenable,  destroy  the  lives  of  some,  and 
place  those  of  all  at  the  mercy  of  men  too  far  pro 
voked  to  show  any  mercy. 

There  was  but  one  course  for  a  soldier  to  pursue. 
Twenty  of  the  best  marksmen  were  posted  at  the 
windows,  where  their  rifles  would  command  the 
cannon. 

"The  first  man  who  attempts  to  discharge  that 
gun  will  be  shot  dead !"  shouted  the  chief  of  the 
military. 

Andrew  Craig  leaped  forward  to  pull  the  lan 
yard.  Half  a  score  of  rifles  rattled  almost  in  unison. 


TWO     MILES    OF     FIRE 

Craig's  right  arm  fell  powerless  to  his  side,  his 
grimy  shirt  stained  by  the  oozing  blood. 

A  dozen  men  rushed  to  assist  their  leader.  "It  is 
nothing,"  he  exclaimed — only  a  flesh-wound.  I  can 
use  the  left  arm  yet."  And  he  stepped  toward  the 
cannon. 

VNo — we  cannot  afford  to  lose  you — you  have 
risked  your  life — let  some  one  else  take  the  turn!" 
cried  the  gaunt  Irishman,  who  had  discussed  the 
strike  with  Craig  two  nights  before,  as,  aided  by  a 
dozen  ready  hands,  he  forced  Craig  back  into  the 
throng,  and  compelled  him  to  submit  to  the  binding 
up  of  his  wound. 

"Now,  for  me!"  said  the  Irishman,  as  he  jumped 
for  the  lanyard. 

They  were  his  last  words.  Ten  rifles  spoke  again. 
The  aim  was  truer  this  time,  and  the  Irishman  fell, 
shot  through  the  brain.  Two  others  who  had  fol 
lowed  him  too  closely  also  bit  the  dust ;  one  shot 
through  the  thigh,  the  other  receiving  a  fatal  wound 
in  the  lungs. 

The  rioters  were  enraged,  not  cowed,  by  the 
slaughter  of  their  comrades.  Half  a  dozen  rushed 
forward,  determined  that  the  artillery  should  be 
discharged.  Ten  rifles  again  dealt  out  the  hail  of 
death.  Not  one  of  the  men  reached  the  lanyard. 
Then  reluctantly  the  cannon  was  withdrawn.* 

Night  descended  on  the  scene  of  massacre  and 
fire;  a  quiet,  calm,  July  night,  with  the  stars  blink- 

*  This  incident  occurred  almost  as  related.  Three  times 
the  ground  was  strewn  with  dead  and  wounded  before  the  artil 
lery  was  taken  away. 


I3O  ADAM     CLARKE 

ing,  as  they  had  blinked  for  thousands  of  years  on 
the  miseries  and  struggles  of  humankind ;  and,  while 
the  bloodshed  and  strife  and  burning  went  on,  a 
gleam  of  silver  moonlight  looked  in  and  wrapped 
in  limpid  halo  the  face  of  an  unconscious  woman 
in  a  little  tenement  on  Try  Street.  Clasped  to  her 
breast  was  the  cold  form  of  a  little  babe. 

And  the  husband  was  abroad,  avenging  his  dead 
child  by  helping  to  make  other  fathers  childless,  and 
other  children  fatherless. 

And  who  was  responsible  for  all  this? 

Speak,  ye  monopolists,  who  grind  the  faces  of 
the  poor  1 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN    THE    GRAY    OF    THE     MORNING. 

IN  the  gray  of  the  morning,  when  many  of  the 
rioters,  weary  after  the  work  of  the  night  and  the 
day  before,  had  relaxed  into  fitful  sleep,  the  doors 
of  the  round-house  were  quietly  rolled  apart,  and  the 
militiamen  crept  forth.  The  contrast  between  their 
wretched  and  cowed  appearance,  and  the  jaunty,  su 
perior  air  with  which,  in  gaudy  uniforms,  and  with 
silken  palms,  they  marched  to  the  freight  yard  on 
Saturday,  was  as  pitiable  as  it  was  striking.  What 
ever  their  feeling  toward  the  goaded  and  desperate 
workingmen,  it  was  no  longer  one  of  contempt. 
They  had  challenged  the  issue,  and  cried  enough. 

The  strikers  were  satisfied  with  the  retreat  of  the 
militia. 

"They  confess  defeat,"  said  Andrew  Craig;  "and, 
as  far  as  they  are  concerned,  I  am  satisfied.  Let 
them  depart  in  peace,  with  their  dead  and 
wounded." 

A  few  hot  spirits  refused  to  accept  this  advice, 
and  the  retreating  military  were  harassed  for  some 
distance  by  occasional  shots  from  vengeful  pursuers, 
who  hung  on  the  flanks  of  the  companies  or  dis- 

131 


132  ADAM    CLARKE 

charged  their  weapons  from  the  cover  of  side 
streets. 

"Now  for  the  railway  buildings!"  cried  Andrew 
Craig. 

From  structure  to  structure  the  torch  was  borne 
until  every  building  belonging  to  or  connected  with 
the  railway  corporation — except  the  station  at  the 
Point — was  in  flames. 

The  strikers  had  done  their  work.  They  had 
taught  a  lesson  not  likely  to  be  forgotten  in  this  or 
many  succeeding  ages.  Now,  frenzy  took  the  place 
of  reason,  and  they  who  lit  the  conflagration  found 
they  could  no  longer  control  it.  As  the  farmer  who 
fires  the  weeds  and  stubble  in  order  to  enrich  his 
land  sees  the  flames  he  has  started  leaping  from 
tree  to  tree,  and  rushing  like  a  simoom  over  his 
neighbors*  fields,  so  the  strikers  saw  the  mob,  who 
hung  like  vultures  about  the  scene  of  conflict,  now 
prepared  to  deal  destruction  and  devastation 
throughout  the  city. 

In  this  extremity  the  workingmen  proved  them 
selves  as  true  to  the  cause  of  order,  as  they  were 
hostile  to  oppressive  monopoly ;  and,  with  their  aid, 
and  largely  through  their  efforts,  the  supremacy  of 
law  was  restored,  and  the  city  was  saved  from  the 
disaster  which  the  murderous  bullets  of  the  military 
had  provoked  and  incited. 

Andrew  Craig  was  unable  to  take  any  part  in  the 
work  of  dispersing  the  plunderers.  The  pain  of 
his  wound  and  the  reaction  consequent  upon  his 
fearful  share  in  the  struggle  with  the  Philadelphia 
soldiery,  were  too  much  for  him,  and  before  noon 
on  Sunday  he  sought  his  now  desolated  home. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE     BLACKLIST. 

THE  strike  was  over.  The  popular  tumult  had 
subsided.  The  strikers  were  ready  to  go  to  work 
again;  and  then  came  the  railway's  opportunity. 
Then  was  seen  the  evidence  of  the  relentless  power 
of  combined  capital  to  grind  and  punish  anyone  who 
had  defied  its  will,  and  dared  to  assert  the  rights 
of  American  manhood  in  opposition  to  its  plans. 

From  one  railroad  office  to  another,  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  word  was  passed 
that  not  one  of  the  strikers  should  be  permitted  to 
work  again  on  an  American  railway.  Lists  of  their 
names  were  distributed,  not  to  railroads  only,  but 
also  to  other  large  corporations.  The  men  who  had 
attempted  to  break  the  shackles  of  industrial  slavery 
were  virtually  sentenced  to  exile  or  vagrancy ;  their 
homes  were  to  be  broken  up,  their  wives  and  daugh 
ters  driven  on  the  street,  compelled  perhaps  to  sell 
themselves  into  servitude  worse  than  death;  it  was 
to  be  a  crime  to  give  them  employment,  to  grant 
to  anyone  of  them  the  poor  privilege  of  earning 
their  bread  in  the  sweat  of  their  brows. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  such  action  had  been 
taken;  it  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  victims  of 
133 


134  ADAM    CCARKE 

corporate  oppression  had  been  sent  forth  branded 
with  the  stigma  of  corporate  hate.  The  country 
roads  were  thronged  with  such  men,  engaged  in  vain 
search  for  work ;  the  rivers  of  the  great  cities  swal 
lowed  up  many  a  tale  of  despair,  yielding  now  and 
then  to  the  Potter's  Field  the  body  of  some  poor 
fellow,  some  woman,  who  preferred  to  end  all 
sooner  than  prolong  a  wretched  career  by  bartering 
away  her  honor.  Thus,  in  numerous  instances,  the 
death  penalty  was  paid  for  the  guilt  of  striking  for 
higher  wages,  or  refusing  to  submit  to  intolerable 
wrongs. 

Nothing  pleased  the  magnates  of  trusts  and  cor 
porations  more  than  the  news  that  some  striker  had 
been  driven  by  poverty  to  crime.  They  lolled  it 
under  their  tongues  at  their  club  lunches,  and  it 
added  new  zest  to  their  champagne.  Tighter  and 
tighter  they  drew  the  coils  which  bound  the  work- 
ingman  to  their  service,  and  more  rigidly  arrogant 
they  grew  as  it  became  more  and  more  evident  that 
nothing  could  resist  their  dictation.  They  resolved 
to  make  an  example  of  the  Pennsylvania  strikers  that 
would  sear  terror  into  the  heart  of  labor. 

No  criminal  action  was  taken  against  the  men 
who  had  fought  the  militia.  The  railways  and  their 
tools  in  public  office  had  no  desire  to  have  their 
methods  exposed  in  a  public  trial.  It  was  resolved 
to  deal  with  them  through  a  power  superior  to  the 
law,  to  the  Constitution,  to  the  people — the  power 
of  monopoly  combined  in  one  grand  conspiracy 
against  any  person  or  persons  who  should  incur 


THE     BLACKLIST  135 

its  hostility.  The  rights  of  citizenship,  the  guaran 
tees  of  the  fundamental  law,  the  presumption  of  in 
nocence  when  guilt  is  not  legally  proven,  were  to 
be  annulled  by  the  secret  ukase  of  the  trusts.  The 
striker  was  marked  as  one  to  be  driven  from  the 
face  of  the  earth — or  at  least  from  the  face  of  the 
United  States.  He  was  to  be  hounded  from  city  to 
city,  from  town  to  town ;  trailed,  if  need  be,  by  hired 
detectives.  No  pity  was  to  be  shown  to  him;  the 
ban  was  to  be  as  inexorable  and  irrevocable  as  the 
laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians. 

Andrew  Craig  was  one  of  the  marked  men.  The 
dawn  of  the  day  after  the  night  of  fire  and  blood 
found  him  penniless.  All  the  weary  hours  of  day 
light  he  sat  by  his  stricken  wife  and  his  dead  child. 
After  dark  they  went  forth  with  the  little  body  in 
a  bundle,  and  made  their  way  quietly  to  a  suburban 
cemetery.  There  Andrew  dug  a  shallow  grave  with 
a  stove  shovel,  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  and 
laid  within  the  narrow  space  the  remains  of  the  babe, 
whose  joyous  prattle  had  been  the  sunshine  of  his 
life.  The  spot  chosen  was  obscure,  the  excitement 
in  the  city  had  drawn  watchers  away  from  the  grave 
yard,  and  no  one  intruded  on  the  humble  obsequies. 
The  father  and  mother  uttered  a  silent  prayer  as 
the  tears  rolled  down  their  cheeks,  and  who  will  say 
that  the  humble  funeral  was  not  regarded  by  angels' 
eyes  with  as  much  mercy  and  sympathy  as  the  pom 
pous  parade  which  escorts  the  pampered  dust  of  a 
millionaire  ? 

Mrs.  Clarke  knew  nothing  of  the  death  of  her 


136  ADAM     CLARKE 

beloved  grandchild.  Her  sons,  Robert  and  Alex 
ander,  took  no  part  in  the  struggle  between  strikers 
and  militia.  They  remained  in  the  home  on  Mount 
Washington  to  guard  their  mother  and  younger  sis 
ter  and  brother  from  harm  in  the  event  of  disorder 
spreading  to  that  section,  and  not  until  the  city  was 
pacified  and  affairs  resumed  their  ordinary  channels 
did  they  learn  of  the  blow  that  had  fallen  on  the 
family  of  Andrew  Craig. 

They  were  surprised  to  learn,  at  the  end  of  the 
week,  that  they,  too,  were  blacklisted  simply  because 
they  were  related  by  marriage  to  the  strike  leader. 
Their  pay  envelopes  contained  a  notice  that  their 
services  would  be  no  longer  required,  and  sympa 
thizing  fellow-workers  told  them  that  it  would  be 
useless  to  seek  work  where  they  could  be  known  and 
identified.  They  determined  to  move  to  New  York, 
and  sought  to  persuade  Andrew  and  Martha  to  go 
with  them;  but  Andrew  said  that  he  was  born  in 
Pittsburgh,  and  would  not  be  driven  from  the  city 
of  his  ancestors  until  he  had  proven  by  experience 
that  no  chance  remained  of  making  a  living  there. 
Mrs.  Clarke  and  her  stricken  daughter  parted  with 
tearful  pledges  to  meet  again  as  soon  as  circum 
stances  should  permit. 

In  vain  Andrew  sought  employment.  His  name, 
which  he  would  not  deny,  was  enough.  Business 
men  who  would  have  given  him  work,  if  left  to 
themselves,  were  menaced  with  loss  of  trade  if  they 
should  give  way  to  their  sympathies.  On  every  side 
he  was  rebuffed.  One  by  one  the  little  belongings 


THE     BLACKLIST  137 

of  the  home  went  to  the  pawn  shop.  Martha  grew 
weaker  day  by  day.  She  received  her  husband  with 
a  brave  smile  when  he  came  home  each  evening  from 
his  weary  quest  for  employment;  but  Andrew  saw 
behind  the  smile  that  which  made  him  shudder.  His 
wife  was  slowly  starving  to  death.  He  was  unable 
to  buy  her  food  to  make  her  strong,  and  of  the  little 
they  did  get  she  insisted  on  his  taking  the  better 
part — to  keep  him  ready  for  work,  she  said. 

One  evening,  about  three  months  after  the  strike, 
Craig  came  home  after  dark.  There  was  no  light 
in  the  window  as  usual  when  he  was  late.  Anxious 
ly  he  entered  the  door.  Martha  was  there.  She  was 
sitting  down.  She  was  paler  than  ever.  She  tried 
to  rise.  There  was  a  smile  on  her  lips  as  she 
stretched  out  her  hands. 

"Andrew — Andrew,  dear,  please  forgive  me,"  she 
muttered,  almost  in  a  whisper.  "I  haven't  got  the 
tea  ready,  Andrew.  I  didn't  feel — I  didn't  feel — I 
was  not  quite  well.  But — I'm  better  now,  Andrew, 
dear.  I'm  glad  you  came." 

She  tottered  into  his  extended  arms.  Her  lips  met 
his.  He  heard  a  deep-drawn  sigh.  Her  arms 
seemed  to  relax.  Her  head  fell  to  his  bosom. 

The  once  strong  man  cried  out  in  his  agony: 
"Martha!  Martha!" 

Martha  Craig  was  dead — starved  to  death. 

The  Moloch  of  monopoly  had  claimed  another 
victim. 

Andrew  Craig  was  too  proud  to  beg  for  himself, 
and  he  had  not  fully  realized  before  the  degree  to 


138  ADAM     CLARKE 

which  his  wife  denied  herself  that  he  might  keep 
up  his  strength.  He  understood  now  the  extent  of 
the  sacrifice.  Proud  as  he  was  he  could  not  bear  to 
see  his  loved  Martha  in  a  pauper's  grave.  A  few 
stanch  friends,  made  aware  for  the  first  time  of  his 
dire  necessity,  gave  him  the  means  to  pay  for  a  de 
cent  interment,  and  Craig  chose  the  spot  where  the 
babe  already  reposed  for  the  final  resting  place  of 
the  mother. 

Then  he  went  forth  into  the  world  alone. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

DRIVEN     FROM     HIS     NATIVE     LAND. 

"PLEASE  give  me  work;  I  want  work.  No,  not 
that — not  money.  I  need  food,  but  I  can  get  it  if 
I  have  work." 

It  was  a  November  afternoon,  in  the  freight  of 
fice  of  a  railway  at  Cincinnati.  The  voice  was  that 
of  Andrew  Craig,  but  broken  and  weak,  compared 
with  the  once  virile  tones  which  commanded  the 
obedience  of  an  infuriated  mob. 

"I  can't.  I'm  really  sorry  I  can't  find  a  place  for 
you/'  was  the  answer  of  the  person  addressed,  an 
official  of  the  railway  company. 

There  seemed  to  be  genuine  sympathy  in  his  tone, 
as  he  still  held  out  the  half  dollar  he  had  proffered 
to  his  visitor. 

"But  why  not?"  replied  Craig.  "I  know  you've 
been  looking  for  freight  handlers,  and  I  was  just 
told  out  there  that  you  were  in  pressing  need  of 
them." 

The  official  looked  confused.  He  glanced  again 
at  a  memorandum  book  from  his  side  pocket  to  make 
sure  that  he  had  the  name  right.  It  was  there — 
Andrew  Craig,  Pennsylvania  striker,  and  this  man 
said  his  name  was  Andrew  Craig,  and  he  was  from 
139 


I4O  ADAM     CLARKE 

Pittsburgh.  To  hire  him  would  be  to  forfeit  his 
own  place.  Of  course,  he  did  not  tell  Craig  this. 

"I  see  by  my  memorandum  book,"  he  said  to 
Craig,  "that  the  places  have  all  been  filled.  I'm  very 
sorry  for  you,  my  man — very  sorry.  Take  this  half 
dollar.  You're  hungry,  I'm  afraid,  and  this  will 
get  you  a  meal  and  a  bed,  and  then  you  can  look 
elsewhere." 

Craig  took  the  half  dollar  reluctantly.  He  was 
hungry.  He  got  supper  and  a  bed,  and  he  started 
next  morning  to  make  his  way  to  Chicago  by  walk 
ing  and  riding  on  freight  trains. 

The  experiences  of  Pittsburgh  and  Cincinnati 
were  repeated,  with  variations. 

"We  don't  want  you  here — you're  a  striker  and  a 
disturber" — -was  the  answer  of  one  railway  agent. 

"There's  no  use  wasting  your  time  and  ours.  You 
can't  get  work  on  any  railway  in  this  town,"  said 
another. 

The  refusals  were  not  always  so  blunt,  but  they 
were  always  positive. 

Craig  tried  to  get  work  on  a  steamboat  wharf,  but 
he  seemed  to  be  known  there  too.  He  stood  in  a 
line  of  applicants,  many  of  whom  were  promptly 
engaged.  When  his  turn  came  he  noticed  that  the 
agent  or  superintendent  had  a  book  on  his  left, 
toward  which  he  glanced  occasionally. 

"Residence?"  was  the  query,  when  Craig  gave  his 
name. 

"Pittsburgh,"  he  replied. 

The  questioner  looked  up  at  Craig,  then  at  the 
book,  and  said,  "I  don't  think  you'll  do." 


DRIVEN     FROM     HIS     NATIVE    LAND  14! 

"Can't  you  give  me  a  chance?"  asked  Craig. 

The  agent  shook  his  head  and  called,  "next." 

A  month  later  Craig  was  in  St.  Louis.  His  ap 
pearance  was  now  against  him.  The  once  neat 
workingman  bore  the  stamp  of  vagrancy.  He  re 
mained  temperate  and  did  not  associate  with  tramps, 
but  he  looked  like  one. 

He  got  work,  however,  as  a  roustabout  on  a 
steamer  for  New  Orleans.  Just  as  the  vessel  was 
about  to  start  a  man  stepped  on  board  and  went  at 
once  to  the  clerk's  office.  Two  minutes  later  Craig 
was  ordered  off  the  boat. 

That  night  Craig  rested  in  the  lodging-room  of  a 
police  station.  He  was  hungry  and  sleepless,  and 
could  not  help  overhearing  the  conversation  of  two 
unfortunates  near  him. 

"It's  no  use,  mate,"  said  one,  "I  was  in  the  strike 
in  the  Burlington  a  year  ago,  and  from  that  day  to 
this  I  haven't  been  able  to  get  a  day's  regular  work. 
They've  got  everyone  of  us  spotted,  and  I  hear 
there's  detectives  in  every  large  city  has  a  list  of 
our  names,  and  watches  to  see  we're  not  employed 
long  anywhere.  I  know  I  got  work  once  with  the 
oil  refinery  at  Columbus,  and  I  wasn't  there  but  half 
a  day  when  some  one  had  me  bounced.  I  hear  the 
oil  and  the  railway  people  are  very  thick,  and  one 
won't  give  work  to  anyone  the  others  don't  like.  I 
was  born  right  here  in  Missouri,  and  my  father  be 
fore  me,  and  I  hadn't  done  anything  wrong.  We 
only  asked  for  higher  pay,  and  struck  when  we 
didn't  get  it,  and  tried  to  persuade  other  people  not 
to  take  our  places.  That's  all ;  and  that's  no  crime. 


142  ADAM     CLARKE 

But  if  I  can't  be  allowed  to  make  a  living  in  this 
country  I've  got  to  leave  it,  and  I'm  going  to.  I 
intend  to  stow  away  to-morrow  on  a  steamer  for 
New  Orleans,  and  then  work  my  way  to  Mexico. 
I  guess  the  railways  will  be  satisfied  with  my  leav 
ing  the  United  States. 

"I  hear  that  Jim  Hill,  up  on  the  Great  Northern," 
continued  the  speaker,  "has  some  men  on  the  road 
who  were  in  our  strike,  but  I'm  told  they  got  the 
places  under  false  names,  but  that  Jim  Hill  winks 
at  it  out  of  pity  for  them.*  I'm  not  going  to  give 
up  my  name,  however,  when  I  have  done  no  wrong. 
I'll  leave  the  country  first." 

The  whole  truth  now  struck  home  forcibly  to 
Craig.  He  saw  why  he  had  been  refused  work,  and 
he  perceived  the  evident  hopelessness  of  attempting 
to  live  in  the  United  States  without  the  permission 
of  the  great  corporations,  one  of  which  he  had  of 
fended.  He  had  suspected  before  that  his  share  in 
the  Pittsburgh  strike  was  the  cause  of  his  failure  to 
obtain  employment,  but  he  had  not  known  that  he 
was  the  victim  of  a  general  decree  issued  by  the 
railway  corporations — of  a  law  superior  to  the  laws 


*  A  newspaper  man  from  St.  Paul  mentioned  recently  to  the 
writer,  as  remarkable  evidence  of  the  courage  and  independence 
of  President  James  J.  Hill,  of  the  Great  Northern  Railway,  that 
Mr.  Hill  had  given  employment  to  men  who  had  been  engaged 
in  the  Chicago  railway  strike  of  1894,  and  who  had  been  "black 
listed"  by  railways  throughout  the  United  States.  The  men  thus 
employed  gave  assumed  names,  presumably  to  protect  the  Great 
Northern  Railway  from  being  called  to  account  for  giving  them 
a  chance  to  live. 


DRIVEN     FROM     HIS     NATIVE     LAND  143 

of  the  land;  of  a  power  which  handled  the  courts 
as  its  puppets,  and  knew  no  rule  of  conduct,  but  the 
supreme  will  of  capital,  combined  to  crush  out  per 
sonal  freedom,  and  to  mold  the  individual  citizen 
into  a  part  of  its  working  machinery.  He  had  sup 
posed  that  Andrew  Craig  was  being  punished  and 
starved  and  hounded  as  Andrew  Craig,  and  not  as 
one  of  thousands  of  poor  men  who  had  dared  to 
assert  their  rights  as  free  men.  Now  his  eyes  were 
opened  to  the  full  extent  of  the  vast  conspiracy 
which  had  driven  him  and  the  unfortunates  near 
him  into  a  St.  Louis  police  station  for  shelter,  which 
had  decreed  that  he  and  any  other  workingman  who 
dared  to  offend  the  trusts  should  be  a  wanderer  and 
an  outcast,  even  though  born  American  citizens,  and 
though  their  ancestors  had  offered  their  lives  to  gain 
that  liberty  which  was  now  being  denied  to  their 
children. 

"My  God !"  grganed  Craig,  as  he  tossed  in  almost 
feverish  hunger  on  his  bed  of  boards,  "has  it  come 
to  this,  that  I  must  leave  my  native  land — the  land 
where  Martha  and  baby  are  buried — because  I  dared 
to  ask  for  higher  wages !  Is  it  not  enough  that  the 
capitalists  murdered  my  innocent  boy,  and  starved 
my  poor  wife  to  death — they  must  blacklist,  and  fol 
low  and  persecute  me  until  I  am  done  to  death  too ; 
they  must  prevent  me  from  getting  work,  while 
there  is  work  all  around  me,  and  deny  me  a  crust  of 
bread,  while  they  wallow  in  champagne  and  every 
luxury  that  money  can  buy — and  all  to  give  warn 
ing  to  other  workingmen  to  be  passive,  obedient 


144  ADAM     CLARKE 

slaves,  or  be  treated  as  I  am  being  treated !  I,  too, 
will  leave  my  native  land,  for  a  time,  and  labor  else 
where  for  the  living  denied  me  here ;  and  if  fortune 
attends  me  I  will  come  back  again  and  strive  to  over 
throw  this  new  system  of  slavery." 

Convinced  that  his  two  neighbors  in  the  lodging- 
room  were  honest  men  like  himself,  Craig  spoke  to 
them.  He  told  them,  as  far  as  he  thought  proper, 
who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came,  and  expressed  his 
willingness  to  join  in  the  journey  to  Mexico.  It 
was  arranged  that  all  three  should  stow  themselves 
away  on  a  steamer  to  New  Orleans  next  day,  and 
show  themselves  after  the  vessel  was  well  started, 
and  offer  to  work  their  passage.  They  had  little 
doubt  that  the  offer  would  be  accepted,  for  hands 
were  scarce  on  the  levee,  and  they  would  take  care 
to  get  on  board  unnoticed  by  any  shadowing  detec 
tive. 

The  plan  was  carried  out  as  designed.  Craig 
and  his  companions  managed  to  earn  a  meal  before 
they  went  on  the  steamer,  and  were  in  a  condition 
to  work  when  they  presented  themselves  to  the  sec 
ond  officer.  The  latter  accepted  their  services,  and 
while  the  labor  of  loading  and  unloading  at  the  land 
ings  was  very  hard,  and  of  a  sort  to  which  Craig 
had  not  been  accustomed,  the  food  was  wholesome 
and  abundant,  and  the  three  men  reached  New  Or 
leans  in  much  better  condition  than  when  they 
started.  They  did  not  leave  the  steamer  at  once 
upon  its  arrival,  but  helped  at  unloading,  and  they 
were  agreeably  surprised  at  being  summoned  to  the 


DRIVEN     FROM     HIS     NATIVE     LAND  145 

clerk's  office  before  their  departure,  and  presented 
each  with  the  sum  of  ten  dollars. 

This  money  enabled  Craig  and  his  comrades — 
whose  names  were  Tennessee  Mathews  and  Wil 
liam  Carter — to  make  themselves  presentable,  and 
look  deliberately  for  an  opportunity  to  go  to  Mex 
ico.  They  found  a  schooner  destined  for  the  mouth 
of  the  Rio  Grande,  whose  captain  was  willing  to 
take  them,  they  agreeing  to  assist  in  loading  and 
lighterage,  and  to  make  themselves  useful  during 
the  voyage. 

The  sail  across  the  Gulf,  with  its  flying  fish,  its 
sportive  porpoises,  and  monster  turtles  floating  on 
the  bosom  of  the  deep,  its  ever-varying  tints  of  sea 
and  sky,  its  sudden  blows  and  tropical  calms,  was 
full  of  interest  for  Craig.  It  enlarged  his  ideas  of 
the  world;  it  presented  a  new  and  fascinating  side 
of  nature.  The  balmy  zephyrs  seemed  to  have  a 
softening  influence  on  his  troubled  soul.  Some 
times  he  dreamed  on  deck  under  the  bright  southern 
stars  that  he  would  like  nothing  better  than  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  his  existence  in  a  climate  so  fair, 
beneath  skies  so  enchanting.  He  would  forget  for 
ever  the  inhospitable  North,  from  which  he  had  been 
driven,  and  live  a  new  life  in  the  land  of  the  Aztec, 
the  palm  and  the  orange  grove. 

But  no.  A  vision  rose  before  him  of  a  little  tene 
ment  on  Try  Street,  Pittsburgh;  a  little,  loving 
woman  and  a  cooing  babe — and  then  of  a  lonely 
mound  in  the  cemetery,  where  his  loved  ones  were 
sleeping. 

No;  he  would  not  desert  them.     He  would  see 


146  ADAM     CLARKE 

Pittsburgh  again.  He  would  see  that  grave  again. 
He  would  strive  manfully  in  the  southland  for  the 
fortune  that  would  enable  him  to  be  free  and  in 
dependent  in  his  native  North. 

Three  weeks  later  Andrew  Craig  was  working 
on  a  ranch  in  the  Mexican  State  of  Tamaulipas, 
watching  for  an  opportunity  to  go  to  the  silver 
mines  of  Guanajuato. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ROBERT    CLARKE    MEETS    THE    REVEREND    JEFFERSON 
JONES. 

MRS.  CLARKE  and  her  children  travelled  to  New 
York  in  the  ordinary  carriages.  They  felt  that  they 
could  not  afford  parlor  or  sleeping  cars,  and  made 
themselves  as  comfortable  as  possible  without  those 
luxuries.  Opposite  Robert  sat  a  young  man  of 
earnest  expression  and  pleasant  features,  whose 
attire  indicated  him  to  be  a  clergyman.  There  was 
nothing  sombre  or  distant  in  his  manner,  and  he 
was  evidently  one  of  those  who  are  sincerely  de 
voted  to  the  work  of  the  Gospel,  and  who  do  not 
view  their  calling  merely  as  a  means  of  living.  The 
grandeur  of  the  scenery,  as  the  train  sped  on  through 
the  mountainous  region  of  Western  Pennsylvania, 
easily  led  to  conversation.  Robert  won  the  preach 
er's  sympathy  with  the  story  of  his  family's  un 
happy  experiences,  and  the  young  clergyman  frank 
ly  told  of  his  own  personality  and  mission.  He  was 
the  Reverend  Jefferson  Jones,,  he  said,  a  min 
ister  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church,  recently 
relieved  from  his  charge  in  Chicago  for  having  too 
frankly  followed  the  example  of  Christ  in  admon 
ishing  wrong-doers,  without  regard  to  their  worldly 
estate.  He  had  been  warned  that  he  was  disturb 
ing  the  pillars  of  the  church,  that  contributions  were 


148  ADAM     CLARKE 

falling  off,  and  that  the  mites  coming  in  larger 
quantity  from  the  poor  were  not  sufficient  to  make 
up  for  the  missing  cheques  of  the  rich.  As  he  per 
sisted  in  refusing  to  adapt  his  sermons  to  the  con 
sciences  of  wealthy  pewholders,  he  had  been  re 
quested  to  resign  by  influential  parishioners,  and 
although  urged  by  many  of  the  poorer  members 
to  remain,  he  chose  to  retire  rather  than  cause  dis 
sension  in  the  church.  After  being  for  several 
weeks  inactive,  he  had  been  surprised  by  receiving 
an  invitation,  accompanied  by  an  offer  of  liberal 
compensation,  to  preach  in  one  of  the  leading 
churches  of  New  York,  on  the  following  Sunday, 
and  was  on  his  way  to  that  city  in  obedience  to  the 
summons,  which  was  signed  by  one  of  the  vestry 
men  of  the  church,  J.  Hilton  Dilkins,  at  whose  house 
he  was  to  call  upon  his  arrival.  The  clergyman  ex 
pressed  a  hope  that  Robert  would  find  time  to  hear 
his  sermon. 

Robert  replied  that  he  did  not  belong  to  the 
Protestant  Episcopal  creed,  but  would  be  pleased 
nevertheless  to  be  present  at  the  services  on  the  day 
in  question. 

The  Reverend  Jefferson  Jones  was  a  broad- 
minded  as  well  as  an  earnest  Christian,  and  Robert 
was  open  and  simple-hearted.  In  the  long  talks 
between  the  two  before  they  parted  at  New  York, 
Robert  learned  well  the  truth,  so  clearly  expressed 
in  Whittier's  verse : 

"That  they  who  differ  pole-wide,  serve 

Perchance  the  common  Master, 
And  other  sheep  He  hath  than  they 
Who  graze  one  narrow  pasture." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BANKER    DILKINS    EXPLAINS    THE    KIND  OF    SERMON 
HE  WANTS. 

THE  Reverend  Jefferson  Jones  had  seen  some 
splendid  homes  in  Chicago,  but  the  residence  of 
J.  Hilton  Dilkins,  on  one  of  New  York's  leading 
avenues,  was  more  magnificent  than  any  of  them. 

The  first  view  within  the  door  was  of  tall  Corin 
thian  columns,  inclosing  an  Italian  sunset.  The 
woodwork  was  in  gold,  and  the  ceiling  of  cloth  of 
gold.  Leopard  skins  covered  the  floor.  This  was 
the  reception-room,  and  here  Mr.  Jones  was  invited 
to  await  his  host. 

Dilkins  did  not  keep  him  waiting  long.  Stout, 
rather  above  medium  height,  his  dark  hair  streaked 
with  gray,  and  his  purple-tinted  cheeks  and  nose 
showing  that  he  was  familiar  with  the  pleasures  of 
the  table,  Dilkins  was  a  typical  prince  of  finance. 
He  was  reserved  and  courteous  in  his  greeting,  as 
to  one  whom  he  did  not  exactly  regard  as  a  ser 
vant,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  as  an  equal. 

It  was  too  late  for  luncheon  and  too  early  for 
dinner,  and  Dilkins,  after  the  usual  inquiries  about 
his  visitor's  health  and  journey,  promptly  entered 
on  the  subject  of  their  meeting. 
149 


I5O  ADAM     CLARKE 

"You  see,"  said  Dilkins,  settling  in  an  arm-chair, 
and  motioning  the  Reverend  Jefferson  Jones  to  an 
other,  "the  vestry  has  decided  to  invite  you  to  de 
liver  a  sermon  next  Sunday,  and  if  your  address  is 
satisfactory  it  may  result  in  a  call  to  become  rector 
of  the  church.  It  is,  as  you  know,  the  next  in  im 
portance  to  Trinity  in  New  York  City,  and  prob 
ably  includes  among  its  members  more  men  of 
wealth,  more  of  the  class  to  whom  Divine  Provi 
dence  has  intrusted  the  great  corporate  interests  of 
the  United  States,  such  as  coal  mines,  gas  plants, 
railways,  etc.,  than  any  other  church  in  the  country. 
What  we  need  is  a  conservative  minister,  one  who 
devotes  himself  to  subjects  of  real  religious  value, 
such  as  the  proper  interpretation  of  the  Scriptures, 
and  particularly  the  Old  Testament,  and  who  avoids 
the  offensive  and  sensational  utterances  in  which 
so  many  preachers,  who  care  only  for  vulgar  no 
toriety,  seek  to  indulge." 

"Hem,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Jones,  a  little  con 
fused  as  to  the  exact  meaning  of  his  host.  "You 
would  like  me  to  preach  from  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  for  instance?" 

Dilkins'  face  clouded.  "No — not  that,  Mr.  Jones. 
That  is  often  used  as  a  text  by  the  very  class  I  con 
demn,  and  had  better,  therefore,  be  avoided,  or  at^ 
least  very  cautiously  treated.  I  have  heard  your 
sermons  on  the  real  nature  of  the  megatherium, 
the  species  of  the  whale  that  swallowed  the  prophet 
Jonah,  and  similar  subjects,  very  favorably  com 
mented  on  by  our  late  beloved  rector,  Dr.  Smug, 
ami  that  was  the  chief  reason  that  prompted  us  to 


BANKER    DILKINS     EXPLAINS  I$I 

invite  you  to  the  church.  Have  you  ever  read  any 
of  Dr.  Smug's  sermons  ?  No  ?  Here  is  one  printed 
in  pamphlet  form.  It  was  delivered  the  Sunday 
after  the  so-called  Shipping  Trust  disclosures,  when 
some  of  the  lower  class  of  city  preachers  took  ad 
vantage  of  that  occasion  to  excite  the  masses 
against  the  pillars  of  law  and  order,  as  represented 
by  the  managers  of  our  great  corporations.  Dr. 
Smug  preached  that  Sunday  from  Second  Kings, 
chapter  2,  verse  24,  "And  there  came  forth  two 
she  bears  out  of  the  wood,  and  tare  forty  and  two 
children  of  them."  I  will  read  you  some  extracts, 
Mr.  Jones,  from  that  excellent  sermon.  It  will  be 
a  model  for  you : 

"A  subject  of  deep  interest  to  all  of  us,  and  one 
which  should  command  earnest  and  devout  consid 
eration,  is  the  species  of  she-bear  that  devoured  the 
children  that  mocked  the  prophet  Elisha.  We  know 
from  natural  history  that  in  the  ursidse,  or  bear  fam 
ily,  are  included  not  only  the  true  bears,  but  also 
badgers,  gluttons  and  wolverines,  raccoons,  coati- 
mondis,  binturongs,  etc.  Walking  on  the  whole 
sole  of  the  foot,  the  animals  of  this  family  are  not, 
in  general,  capable  of  running  very  swiftly,  and  it 
is  probable,  therefore,  that  the  bears  took  the  chil 
dren  by  surprise,  while  the  attention  of  the  latter 
was  concentrated  on  Elisha's  bald  head,  and  tore 
them  to  pieces  before  they  had  a  chance  to  run  away. 
I  am  satisfied,  after  a  thorough  study  of  the  sub 
ject,  that  the  bears  which  were  sent  by  Heaven  to 
destroy  these  wicked  children,  were  not  gluttons  or 
wolverines,  as  these  animals  are  not  found  so  far 


1 52  ADAM     CLARKE 

south  as  Palestine.  Neither  were  they  raccoons,  or 
the  other  species  I  have  mentioned.  I  have  con 
sulted  a  number  of  authorities  to  ascertain  whether 
any  species  of  bear  has  become  extinct  within  his 
toric  times.  Remains  of  several  extinct  species  of 
bear  have  been  discovered  in  caves  in  the  Old 
World,  some  of  which  appear  to  have  been  larger 
than  the  present  bears  of  that  hemisphere,  and  of 
more  decided  carnivorous  propensities.  I  can  find 
no  evidence,  however,  that  these  bears  survived  up  to 
the  time  when  the  prophet  Elisha  lived,  and  I  am 
obliged  to  conclude  that  the  bears  in  question  be 
longed  to  the  species  known  as  the  Syrian  bear. 
This  bear  is  sometimes  destructive  to  flocks,  and 
would  no  doubt  just  as  readily  destroy  children  as 
sheep.  I  claim  no  special  credit  for  having  solved 
this  important  question,  but  shall  feel  encouraged 
by  the  result  of  my  researches  to  pursue  in  future 
sermons  further  inquiry  into  the  proper  interpreta 
tion  of  Scriptural  terms." 

After  this  very  interesting  introduction,  Dr.  Smug 
went  on  to  discuss  why  the  children  were  torn  to 
pieces  by  the  bears. 

"There  is  a  deep  lesson,"  he  said,  "in  this  text. 
What  the  prophet  Elisha  was  to  Israel,  the  great 
financiers,  presidents  of  railway  corporations  and 
other  eminent  men,  of  whom  I  see  so  many  before 
me  in  this  congregation,  are  to  the  masses  to-day. 
They  are,  as  Mr.  Baer  has  so  clearly  expressed  it, 
divinely  appointed  to  take  charge  of  and  control 
the  resources  of  this  great  country,  this  modern 
Israel,  and  those  who  mock  or  assail  them,  in  news- 


BANKER     DILKINS    EXPLAINS  153 

papers,  on  platforms,  and  in  the  pulpit,  should  be 
destroyed  and  annihilated,  as  the  children  that 
mocked  Elisha  were  destroyed  by  the  she  bears." 

"Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that,  Mr.  Jones?" 
asked  Dilkins,  with  a  broad  smile  of  satisfaction,  as 
he  handed  the  pamphlet  to  the  young  minister. 
"Is  it  not  admirably  worded?" 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Jones  was  silent.  Evidently 
there  was  a  mistake ;  but  what,  he  asked  himself, 
could  have  caused  it?  How  could  he,  the  young 
minister  out  of  a  charge  because  he  had  dared  to 
speak  as  Christ  his  Master  spoke  to  the  grinders 
of  the  faces  of  the  poor,  have  been  knowingly  in 
vited  to  a  pulpit  from  which  such  sermons  had 
been  preached  and  were  expected?  While  he  was 
hesitating,  a  knock  at  the  door  came  to  his  relief. 

"Come  in,"  said  Dilkins. 

A  footman  entered,  standing  with  the  obsequious 
air  of  an  English  flunkey,  and  waited  for  the  com 
mand  to  speak. 

"Well,  Robert,  what  is  it?"  asked  Dilkins,  with 
some  impatience. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  there's  a  woman  h'at  the 
door  hasked  to  see  you,  sir." 

"Who  is  she?  What  does  she  want?  If's  she's 
a  beggar,  turn  her  away.  What  do  you  bother  me 
for?  Did  you  smell  her  breath?  You  know  I  told 
you  when  a  beggar  comes,  always  to  smell  their 
breath,  and  if  they're  in  liquor,  call  a  policeman  and 
have  them  arrested  for  intoxication.  Beggars  that 
haven't  been  drinking,  you  know,  are  to  be  referred 
to  the  Charity  Roundabout  Society." 


154  ADAM     CLARKE 

"She  says  'er  name  his  Mrs.  Vandeveer,  of  13 
Sands  Street,  Brooklyn,  sir,"  answered  the  footman. 
"She  don't  seem  hexactly  a  beggar,  sir.  She  says 
has  'ow  she  lost  hall  'er  money  hin  the  Pyrite  Trust, 
hof  which  you  was  president,  hand  she  wanted  to 
see  you,  has  she  hand  'er  children  hare  starving, 
sir." 

The  Reverend  Jones  was  at  once  interested,  like 
the  true  minister  of  Christ  that  he  was,  in  the  starv 
ing  mother  and  children.  He  made  no  sign,  but 
took  mental  note  of  the  name  and  street  number. 

"Starving,  eh!"  exclaimed  Dilkins,  more  impa 
tiently.  "Didn't  that  show  she  was  a  beggar  ?  How 
dare  you  bring  such  a  message  to  me?  Follow  my 
orders,  or  take  your  wages,  and  get  out!  Smell 
her  breath,  and  if  she  has  been  drinking,  as  is  very 
likely,  have  her  arrested.  She'll  be  quiet  for  six 
months  on  the  island,  and  then  she  will  know  bet 
ter  than  to  come  to  my  house  making  a  disturb 
ance." 

"You  see,  Mr.  Jones,  the  continual  annoyances 
we  have  to  endure  because  we  happen  to  be  promi 
nent  in  the  world  of  finance,  and  how  important  it 
is  for  the  pulpit  to  inculcate  sound  and  conservative 
principles  in  these  days  when  anarchy  dares  to  in 
vade  the  very  threshold  of  wealth." 

Mr.  Jones  had  been  listening  and  thinking,  and 
the  resolve  which  he  had  come  to  was  indicated  by 
his  reply.  He  recalled  now  the  Rev.  Joseph  Jones, 
whose  sermon  on  "The  Megatherium  and  its  place 
among  the  Fauna  of  Noah's  Ark"  had  attracted 
attention  among  the  upper  classes  of  Ch-i^agQ 


BANKER     DILKINS    EXPLAINS 

the  newspapers  representing  that  class,  on  account 
of  what  they  called  its  timely  interest,  and  whole 
some,  conservative  tone.  Evidently,  a  letter  in 
tended  for  the  wealth-favored  clergyman,  who  dis 
cussed  the  megatherium  had  been  delivered  by  mis 
take  to  him,  the  poor,  young  servant  of  Christ, 
ostracized  by  the  pews  because  he  dared  to  follow 
the  teachings  of  the  Saviour  in  dealing  with  living 
men  and  vital  problems  of  to-day.  He  could  not 
but  think  that  the  error  was  Providential,  and  it 
gave  him  opportunity  to  do  good  which  he  should 
not  neglect. 

"I  have  heard  Dr.  Smug's  utterances  with  deep 
interest,"  he  said,  "and  will  no  doubt  be  able  to 
profit  by  them." 

Dilkins  smiled  patronizingly. 

"I  would  like  very  much  to  show  you  the  Dilkins 
Memorial  Settlement  on  Henry  Street,"  added  Dil 
kins.  "As  you  see  by  the  name,  I  was  the  principal 
founder.  It  is  maintained  by  the  church,  or  rather 
under  its  auspices,  and  the  late  Dr.  Smug  spent 
much  of  his  time  there.  The  object  of  the  Settle 
ment  is  the  rescue  and  education  of  the  children  of 
the  neighborhood,  which  is  almost  altogether  com 
posed  of  the  poorer  class  of  Jews.  We  teach  them 
the  catechism  and  New  Testament,  and  give  each 
who  attends  a  piece  of  bread  and  coffee  every  noon. 
In  this  way  we  really  educate  them  to  be  Christians. 
The  coffee  and  bread  is  a  great  idea.  It  was  sug 
gested  by  Dr.  Smug.  Before  that  we  had  almost 
no  attendance,  but  since  then  quite  a  number  of 
children  come  in  to  tate  lessons.  They  used  to 


156  ADAM     CLARKE 

,4 

come  in  only  at  noon,  about  bread  and  coffee  time, 
but  we  made  it  a  condition  that  only  those  should 
get  bread  and  coffee  who  had  been  there  from  9 
A.M.;  so  they  have  to  stay  or  do  without.  They 
are  mostly  very  hungry,  and  perhaps  that  is  all  some 
of  them  get  to  eat.  We  think  of  giving  them  tea 
and  bread  at  3  o'clock  also,  on  condition  that  they 
stay  during  the  afternoon.  At  Christmas  we  have 
a  Christmas  tree,  and  give  candy  to  every  child  that 
is  able  to  recite  a  verse  of  the  New  Testament.  To 
morrow  is  church  visitors'  day,  and  I  would  be  glad 
to  have  you  with  us  at  the  Settlement.  In  the  mean 
time,  I  will  take  pleasure  in  showing  you  through 
my  house." 

Dilkins  led  the  way  to  the  art  gallery. 

"This  picture,"  said  Dilkins,  pointing  to  a  mas 
terpiece,  "cost  me  twenty  thousand  dollars,"  and  he 
looked  at  the  Western  minister  to  see  the  impres 
sion  this  statement  made  on  him. 

"And  this  one/'  he  continued,  pointing  to  an 
other,  "cost  me  only  ten  thousand.  It  is  really 
worth  twenty-five  thousand,  but  I  got  it  from  the 
widow  of  the  late  General  Strongbow  at  less  than 
half  price.  She  needed  the  money,  as  her  husband 
left  her  in  much  poorer  condition  than  had  been 
supposed." 

And  Dilkins  smiled  as  he  thought  of  the  bargain 
he  had  made. 

And  so  he  went  around  the  gallery.  Not  a  word 
about  the  merits  of  the  creations  of  matchless  genius 
which  were  in  his  possession ;  not  a  word  from  the 
standpoint  of  an  art-lover ;  but  thought  and  utter- 


BANKER    DILKINS    EXPLAINS  157 

ance  all  centred  on  the  dollars  represented  in  the 
treasures  before  him. 

The  Reverend  Jones  listened  with  pain  and  dis 
gust  he  could  barely  conceal. 

Then  they  visited  other  apartments  of  this  met 
ropolitan  palace. 

The  walls  of  the  dining-room  were  covered  with 
sixteenth  century  tapestries  descriptive  of  hunt 
ing  scenes,  and  the  magnificent  sideboard  was  laden 
with  cups,  each  one  a  beautiful  and  costly  specimen 
of  art.  Behind  the  dining-room  was  a  fountain ; 
and  myriad  lights,  thrown  from  the  shell  back 
ground  of  opalescent  glass,  were  reflected  on  the 
goldfish  in  the  pool. 

In  the  front  basement  was  the  "Sunset  Den."  It 
was  old  Dutch,  posted  in  orange  leather,  figured  in 
black,  with  floor  of  teak  wood.  In  the  panels  of  the 
wall  were  heads  of  animals,  and  above  the  frieze 
were  stuffed  birds,  set  in  a  background  of  their 
native  haunts. 

Next  the  dining-room  was  the  Turkish  room.  Its 
lights  were  shaded.  In  the  centre  was  a  shaft 
dropping  gracefully  from  a  chandelier,  and  around 
it  coiled  a  living,  non-poisonous  snake,  the  strange 
pet  of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  then  absent  on  a 
visit  to  Europe. 

On  the  top  floor  was  an  apartment  known  as  the 
"Geisha  room."  Wistaria  entwined  the  walls,  and 
from  the  ceiling  hung  an  immense  parasol,  studded 
with  lights.  Everything  was  in  silk,  and  here  the 
hostess,  when  at  home,  received  her  guests  at  tea 
in  Japanese  costume. 


158  ADAM     CLARKE 

The  doors  of  the  principal  bedroom  were  three 
hundred  years  old.  The  bed  cost  many  hundreds 
of  dollars.  The  decorations  of  the  room  were  in 
red  and  gold,  and  the  fittings  of  the  tub  in  the  bath 
room  adjoining  were  of  gold  metal. 

The  minister's  thoughts,  as  he  looked  on  all  this 
luxury,  went  back  to  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and 
to  Christ's  answer  to  the  one  who  came  to  him  seek 
ing  to  know  how  he  might  have  eternal  life. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE   BANKER'S  VICTIM. 

FIVE  minutes  after  leaving  the  Dilkins  mansion 
the  Reverend  Jefferson  Jones  was  inquiring  from 
a  policeman  the  way  to  13  Sands  Street,  Brooklyn. 

The  two  little  rooms  in  the  third  story  of  the 
Sands  Street  tenement  were  clean  from  ceiling  to 
floor.  The  stove  shone  with  polish,  the  plain  table 
had  no  cover,  but  likewise  no  dirt,  and  through 
the  door  from  the  kitchen  could  be  seen  the  neat 
bedroom,  with  bed  and  cot,  also  as  clean  as  they 
were  scant  of  blankets  and  coverlet.  All  the  furni 
ture  in  the  place  would  not  have  brought  ten  dollars 
at  auction. 

Mrs.  Vandeveer  received  her  visitor  with  a  man 
ner  that  showed  good  breeding.  He  promptly  told 
his  errand. 

"I  am  Jefferson  Jones,"  he  said,  "a  Western  min 
ister  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church,  on  a  visit 
to  New  York.  It  came  'to  my  knowledge  accident 
ally,  that  you  and  your  family  are  in  serious  want. 
I  nave  fifteen  dollars  more  than  is  needed  to  pay 
my  expenses  here  and  my  way  back.  I  ask  your 
permission  to  offer  you  ten  of  it,  and  that  done,  my 
visit  is  over." 

159 


l6o  ADAM     CLARKE 

"Are  these  your  children?"  he  added,  as  he 
stroked  the  heads  of  two  little  girls  of  six  and 
eight,  who  looked  up  at  him  wonderingly. 

Mrs.  Vandeveer  was  so  speechless  that  she  could 
not  even  ask  her  visitor  to  sit  down.  She  motioned 
him  to  one  of  the  cheap  wooden  chairs. 

A  woman  of  about  thirty,  naturally  good-look 
ing,  but  with  her  face  bearing  already  the  wrinkled 
marks  of  care  and  want — she  had  seen  so  much  of 
the  world's  cruel  side  of  late  that  the  words  of  kind 
ness  from  a  complete  stranger  almost  stunned  her. 

She  sank  to  a  chair. 

"I  do  not  know  you,  sir,"  she  sobbed,  as  tears 
welled  from  her  eyes,  "but  it  is  true — too  true — that 
we  are  starving.  The  little  ones  and  I  (mother-like, 
the  little  ones  were  first  in  her  heart  and  on  her 
lips) — we  have  eaten  nothing  to-day.  I  spent  our 
last  ten  cents  going  to  see  Mr.  Dilkins,  who  was 
president  of  the  Pyrite  Trust,  in  which  we  lost  our 
money,  to  ask  him  to  help  us,  but  I  was  turned  away 
with  abuse." 

The  tears  came  in  a  flood,  and  she  clasped  to  her 
knees  the  little  ones,  who  were  beginning  to  cry  too. 

When  she  calmed  she  said:  "My  husband  was 
Captain  Vandeveer,  well-known  for  years  on  the 
Hudson.  He  died  five  years  ago,  leaving  me  about 
eighteen  thousand  dollars.  The  Pyrite  Trust  was 
started  about  that  time,  and  the  papers  spoke  so 
well  of  it,  and  Mr.  Dilkins  stood  so  high,  and  was 
at  the  head  of  it,  that  I  put  the  money  into  Pyrite 
common  stock,  thinking  it  would  give  me  a  good  in 
come.  Instead  of  that  it  went  down,  and  when 


there  was  no  income  at  all  from  it,  I  pledged  it  to 
get  means  to  live  on,  and  when  the  loan  came  due, 
having  no  money  to  redeem  it,  I  lost  everything. 
Three  days  ago  I  paid  all  but  my  last  dollar  for  rent, 
and  that  dollar  has  gone  too.  I  suppose  I  am  no 
worse  off  than  many  others,  but,  oh — when  I  think 
of  my  little  girls — I  feel — I  feel  that  it  is  more  than 
I  can  bear." 

A  fit  of  sobbing  interrupted  Mrs.  Vandeveer's 
pathetic  recital. 

Then  she  resumed:  "I  have  never  begged.  I 
have  never  asked  anyone  for  that  which  did  not  be 
long  to  me.  But,  oh,  while  I  could  go  hungry  my 
self,  for  the  sake  of  these  little  ones  I  will  accept 
your  kindness,  and  repay  it  when,  if  ever,  I  shall  be 
able  to  do  so." 

There  was  moisture  in  the  eyes  of  Jefferson 
Jones,  and  something  glistened  on  his  cheeks  as  he 
handed  Mrs.  Vandeveer  the  ten-dollar  bill. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "hurry  and  get  the  food  you 
need.  I  am  going.  Here  is  my  address  in  Chicago. 
I  will  be  back  there  in  three  or  four  days.  Write 
to  me  about  your  condition,  and  I  know  there  are 
true  Christians  in  New  York  whom  I  can  ask  to 
help  you." 

He  rose,  and,  bending  over,  kissed  the  little  girls. 
Then,  with  a  hearty  handshake  to  the  mother,  he 
hurried  away. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AN  EAST  SIDE  SETTLEMENT  FEAST. 

THE  old  Knickerbocker  family  that  first  lived  in 
that  house  on  Henry  Street  could  little  have  imag 
ined  its  future.  When  the  tide  of  immigration  be 
gan  to  sweep  in  heavily  in  the  forties  they  gave 
up  their  home  and  retreated  north  to  what  was  then 
fashionable  high-water  mark,  and  their  former 
dwelling  was  let  to  tenants  of  Irish  extraction. 
Germans  succeeded  the  Irish,  and  held  their  own 
until  the  flood  from  southern  and  eastern  Europe 
began  pouring  into  New  York  in  the  eighties,  and 
has  kept  up  since  in  ever-increasing  volume.  The 
house  then  became  tenanted  by  Russian  Hebrews, 
and  the  vicinity  was  thronged  with  that  persecuted 
race.  Churchmen  selected  it  as  a  fitting  site  for  a 
settlement  to  carry  on,  under  cover  of  philanthropy, 
the  work  of  alienating  Jews  from  their  ancient 
creed,  and  Dilkins,  having  been  prominent  in  con 
tributing,  or  inducing  others  to  contribute  the  neces 
sary  funds,  the  Settlement  was  named  after  him. 

The  visitors — about  a  dozen  altogether — were 
mostly  there  when  Jefferson  Jones  arrived.  They 
were  women,  as  well  as  men,  most  of  them  evident 
ly  bent  on  a  slumming  expedition,  not  from  motives 
162 


AN     EAST     SIDE    SETTLEMENT     FEAST  163 

of  charity,  but  to  be  able  to  gratify  their  self-com- 
plaisancy,  and  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  the 
unhappiness  of  others ;  for  there  is  no  essential  dis 
tinction  between  the  motive  which  leads  a  crowd 
to  a  hanging,  or  to  run  after  the  patrol  wagon  and 
stare  at  its  unhappy  passengers,  and  that  which  at 
tracts  handsomely  attired  men  and  women,  ennuyed 
with  luxury  and  self-indulgence,  to  gaze  at  the 
wretchedness  of  the  slums.  They  go  there  for  a 
new  and  piquant  sensation,  and  nothing  more. 

A  table  with  an  abundant  luncheon  was  laid  out 
in  the  rear  of  the  lower  room,  at  which  the  visitors 
were  gorging  themselves,  while  in  the  front  on 
benches  sat  fourteen  or  fifteen  ragged  children, 
watching  with  hungry  eyes  the  feasting  going  on, 
their  mouths  watering  as  slices  of  chicken  and  cold 
mutton,  with  potatoes  and  other  vegetables,  disap 
peared  down  the  distended  throats  of  their  benev 
olent  patrons.  Near  the  lower  end  of  the  table  sat 
a  fat  vestryman,  whose  face  steamed  with  the  exer 
tion  of  feeding.  On  the  upper  bench — and  there 
fore  not  far  from  the  vestryman — was  a  thin-faced, 
thinly-clad  boy,  whose  features  betokened  his  Jewish 
origin.  The  half -starved  child,  with  two  hours  yet 
to  wait  for  his  bread  and  coffee,  became  fascinated 
by  the  spectacle  of  the  gorging  vestryman.  As  the 
vestryman  lifted  his  fork  and  dumped  chicken  into 
his  capacious  maw,  the  child's  mouth  would  open 
and  close  in  unison,  and  he  seemed  in  imagination 
to  be  a  partner  in  the  feast.  Suddenly  a  teacher, 
noticing  that  the  child's  mind  was  not  on  his  les 
sons,  sharply  recalled  him  to  the  realities  of  his 


164  ADAM     CLARKE 

surroundings.  The  boy's  jaws  stopped  working, 
the  entranced  look  left  his  face,  and  he  settled  down 
again  to  the  Christian  catechism,  and  two  weary 
hours'  wait  for  coffee  and  bread. 

The  feast  over,  the  visitors  were  invited  to  in 
spect  the  children,  who  were  told  to  stand  up  and 
answer  questions. 

"Come,  Purington,"  said  Dilkins,  "as  he  picked 
chicken  out  of  his  teeth,  "let  us  see  some  of  your 
scholars." 

Purington  Peek  was  the  superintendent  of  the 
Settlement,  and  lived  there  with  his  wife,  a  hard- 
featured  woman,  of  whom  the  school  children,  and 
also  Peek  himself,  stood  in  considerable  dread.  At 
other  times  Mrs.  Peek  managed  the  school,  but  on 
visiting  days  Mr.  Peek  had  to  make  a  pretence  of 
being  the  real  as  well  as  nominal  head.  Peek  him 
self  was  a  long,  lanky  New  Englander,  with  a  vapid 
smile,  which  his  wife,  in  her  fits  of  temper,  which 
were  quite  frequent,  called  idiotic. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Peek,  looking  around  with 
anxious  gaze  for  a  cue  from  his  wife  as  to  whom 
to  select.  He  did  not  get  it,  however,  as  Mrs.  Peek's 
sharp  eyes  were  just  then  measuring  the  amount 
of  luncheon  left  over,  and  estimating  how  much  she 
would  get  for  it  from  a  nearby  restaurant. 

"Come  up  here,"  said  Peek,  at  hazard,  to  a  boy 
in  one  of  the  front  seats,  who,  he  thought  from  his 
intelligent  look,  might  be  able  to  answer  questions 
satisfactorily. 

"What's  your  name?"  asked  Dilkins,  addressing 
the  boy. 


AN     EAST     SIDE     SETTLEMENT     FEAST 

"Abraham  Rosenstein,"  was  the  answer. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  asked  Dilkins. 

The  boy  gave  his  address. 

"What  does  your  father  do?" 

"He's  a  carpenter,  sir." 

"Where  does  he  work?" 

"He  isn't  working,  sir;  he  has  been  out  of  work 
three  weeks." 

"How  long  have  you  been  coming  to  the  school  ?" 

"Three  weeks,  sir." 

After  some  further  questioning  Dilkins  turned  to 
the  Reverend  Jefferson  Jones,  who,  arriving  late, 
had  made  that  an  excuse  for  not  joining  in  the 
luncheon,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  like  to  address 
the  children. 

"I  am  only  a  guest  here,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  "and 
I  hope  you  will  not  regard  me  as  presumptuous  in 
making  a  suggestion.  It  is  that  the  children  be  in 
vited  at  once  to  consume  what  is  left  of  the 
luncheon." 

Dilkins  looked  surprised.  Something  stronger 
than  surprise  was  reflected  on  the  face  of  Mrs. 
Peek.  To  the  other  visitors  the  idea  of  these  ragged 
children  sitting  at  the  same  table  and  eating  the 
same  luncheon  as  they — -the  favored  of  fortune — 
seemed  little  short  of  anarchy.  Besides,  it  would 
deprive  their  visit  of  its  chief  pleasure — that  of  see 
ing  others  suffer  from  hunger,  while  their  own 
stomachs  were  full.  They  all  looked  at  Dilkins, 
whi'le  the  children  looked  with  unutterable  gratitude 
at  Jones. 

Dilkins  was  in  the  habit  of  deciding  quickly.  His 


1 66  ADAM     CLARKE 

business  required  it.  He  must  humor  Jones  for  the 
present,  and  curb  him  later,  should  he  need  curbing. 

"Mr.  Jones  is  right,"  said  Dilkins.  "Let  the  chil 
dren  come  up  to  the  table,  Peek." 

The  children  did  not  rush  forward  like  wolves,  a 
spectacle  witnessed  only  at  luncheons  in  high  so 
ciety.  They  marched  in  order  to  the  table,  and  fell 
to. 

There  was  plenty  for  all;  for  the  luncheon  had 
been  provided  on  a  liberal  scale  by  Mrs.  Peek,  with 
an  eye  to  the  disposal  of  what  might  remain.  She 
watched  with  repressed  anger  the  disappearance  of 
her  anticipated  profits  into  the  stomachs  of  the  chil 
dren,  while  the  visitors,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Jones  ex- 
cepted,  looked  on  as  they  might  gaze  in  a  menagerie 
at  feeding  time. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Peek  leaped  toward  the  table. 

"You  little  scamp,  what  do  you  mean  by  stealing 
bread!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  struck  a  small  boy 
with  her  hand. 

The  boy  put  back  on  the  table  the  slice  of  bread 
he  had  been  trying  to  slip  into  his  pocket,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

"I  always  brings  father  and  mother  my  bread," 
he  said,  sobbing. 

"What's  that,  my  boy?"  said  Mr.  Jones  kindly. 

"Father's  got  no  work  and  no  money,  so  I  only 
drinks  the  coffee  and  brings  home  the  bread." 

"Then  I  will  assume  the  responsibility  of  telling 
you  to  take  any  food  on  the  table  that  the  other  chil 
dren  do  not  want,"  rejoined  Mr.  Jones,  looking 
severely  at  Mrs.  Peek. 


AN     EAST     SIDE     SETTLEMENT     FEAST 

When  the  children  had  done  eating,  Mr.  Jones 
addressed  them  briefly.  He  told  them  that,  how 
ever  poor  they  might  be,  they  were  no  worse  off 
than  some  of  those  who  had  won  high  places  in 
American  history.  He  spoke  of  Lincoln,  Garfield, 
and  other  great  Americans,  and  of  their  early 
struggles,  and  he  saw  the  pinched  young  faces  light 
up,  and  the  eyes  brighten  as  he  spoke.  He  told 
them  to  honor  their  fathers  and  mothers,  and  be 
true  to  the  teachings  of  their  ancestral  faith;  that 
this  was  a  land  of  freedom  of  conscience,  and  that 
all  were  equal  before  the  law.  He  spoke  with  ten 
der  feeling  of  the  self-sacrifice  of  the  boy  who  went 
hungry  and  brought  home  the  bread  to  his  father 
and  mother,  and  he  said  that  in  an  act  like  this 
there  was  a  noble  inspiration  for  everyone,  whatso 
ever  their  station  in  life.  He  closed  with  his  best 
wishes  for  all  sincerely  interested  in  promoting  the 
welfare  of  their  fellows. 

Then,  as  if  to  avoid  introductions,  the  young 
minister  said  that  he  had  an  appointment  with  a 
brother  clergyman  that  would  prevent  his  longer 
stay,  and  he  hoped  to  meet  the  patrons  of  the  Set 
tlement  at  church  on  the  following  Sunday. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE     REVEREND     JEFFERSON      JONES     PREACHES     TO 
MILLIONAIRES. 

THE  Reverend  Jefferson  Jones  was  promptly  at 
the  church  at  the  appointed  hour  for  services  to  be 
gin.  This  punctuality  was  intentional  on  his  part, 
as  he  wished  to  avoid  introductions,  but  it  was  dis 
appointing  to  a  number  of  the  congregation,  who 
were  anxious  to  meet  personally  the  well-known 
minister,  the  fame  of  whose  sermons  on  antediluvian 
and  other  safe  subjects  had  preceded  him,  and  who 
was  warranted  not  to  cause  a  nerve  quiver  or  dis 
turb  the  equanimity  of  any  financier  in  the  pews. 
In  a  seat  in  the  gallery  sat  Robert  Clarke. 

The  new  minister  went  through  the  ritual  with  a 
heart  and  an  emphasis  that  seemed  to  give  fresh  and 
living  meaning  to  the  familiar  words,  and  contrasted 
vividly  with  the  sing-song  style  of  the  late  venerable 
Smug.  Then  he  ascended  the  pulpit  to  preach,  while 
visions  of  the  dinosaurus,  the  leviathan,  and  other 
pre-Wall  Street  topics  arose  before  the  mental  gaze 
of  the  audience.  Every  pew  framed  a  photograph 
of  smug-faced  self-satisfaction. 

Suddenly  a  thrill  ran  through  the  congregation. 
Men  sat  bolt  upright  and  stared,  as  if  eyes  were  ask 
ing  if  ears  deceived  them;  when,  with  a  voice  al- 
168 


JONES    PREACHES    TO     MILLIONAIRES  169 

most  angry  in  holy  denunciation,  the  preacher  shot 
forth  : 

"  'My  house  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer ; 
but  ye  have  made  it  a  den  of  thieves.'  Gospel  of 
St.  Matthew,  twenty-first  chapter,  fourteenth  verse." 

The  women  stopped  looking  at  each  other's  hats ; 
the  men — or  many  of  them — quailed  as  they  felt 
that  this  shot  was  for  one  and  each  of  them.  Guilty 
consciences  recognized  the  accusation  which  Christ 
had  addressed  to  their  prototypes  nearly  nineteen 
centuries  before. 

"Ye  who  conspire  in  the  stock  market  to  rob  the 
widow  and  orphan  of  their  savings,"  the  preacher 
went  on,  in  language  that  seemed  like  the  lightning 
of  God's  own  wrath,  "ye  who  plot  to  raise  the  price 
of  the  bread  and  meat  with  which  the  poor  man 
feeds  his  family,  and  the  cotton  with  which  he 
clothes  them;  ye  who  bribe  legislators  to  violate 
their  oaths,  who  treat  the  laws  of  the  land  as  if  they 
were  gossamer  webs,  and  live  in  luxury  unexampled 
among  the  pagans  of  ancient  Rome  for  whom  at 
least  there  was  the  excuse  that  they  knew  not  Christ 
or  His  teachings — how  can  ye  sit  in  the  temple  of 
the  Most  High  without  crying  out  openly  for  mercy 
on  your  guilty  souls ! 

"How  can  ye  enjoy  the  riches  you  have  amassed 
far  beyond  the  ability  of  honest  and  lawful  gain, 
and  load  your  wives  and  daughters  with  jewels  and 
silks,  and  furs,  while  your  brethren  and  sisters  for 
whom  Christ  died,  suffer  for  lack  of  the  humblest 
raiment,  and  their  children  cry  in  vain  for  bread! 
What  fatuity  possesses  you  to  suppose  that  the  hap- 


ADAM     CLARKE 

piness  of  Heaven  is  for  those  who  have  wallowed 
in  the  very  mire  of  worldly  gratification,  blind  and 
deaf  to  the  misery  that  in  this  great  city  of  New 
York  is  almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of  any  of 
your  mansions?  Has  not  Christ  declared  that  not 
a  sparrow  falls  unseen  by  Our  Heavenly  Father? 
And  think  you  that  the  thousands  who  perish  yearly 
in  this  modern  Rome  and  Nineveh  for  lack  of  the 
care  that  your  surplus  riches  could  easily  bestow, 
die  unnoticed  by  the  Creator  of  all  ?  Rather  do  their 
tongues,  though  silent  in  death,  plead  to  Heaven 
for  vengeance  on  those  who  grind  the  faces  of  the 
poor,  and  trample  their  less  fortunate  fellowmen 
like  worms  beneath  their  feet. 

"Unless  you  are  repentant,  you  have  no  place 
in  the  Church  of  God,  no  right  to  sit  in  this  temple, 
and  to  mock  the  holy  forms  of  religion.  If  you  are 
penitent,  then  show  it  by  your  works,  by  returning 
to  the  people  in  general,  and  to  each  brother  and 
sister  in  particular,  that  out  of  which  you  have  de 
frauded  them,  and  by  making  that  use  of  your  sur 
plus  wealth  which  Christ  and  His  apostles  have 
clearly  taught  as  the  duty  of  every  Christian. 

"If,  on  the  contrary,  you  are  determined  to  per 
sist  in  your  iniquity,  to  keep  illgotten  gains,  to  close 
your  eyes  and  shut  your  ears  to  the  sufferings  of 
your  fellows,  then  at  least  cease  to  be  hypocrites. 
Do  not  come  here  to  mock  God.  Stay  in  your 
palaces  and  your  money  dens,  and  no  longer  make 
the  church  a  moral  charnel-house.  I  cannot  whip 
you  from  the  temple  as  Christ  did  the  money-chang 
ers  of  Jerusalem.  But  if  words  can  sear  and  burn 


JONES    PREACHES    TO    MILLIONAIRES  I /I 

until  even  your  consciences  are  touched  to  the  quick, 
I  shall  not  spare  them.  Even  as  I  was  at  the  house 
of  one  of  your  vestrymen  last  night,  a  woman,  beg 
gared  by  that  vestryman's  operations,  came  to  the 
door,  and  was  answered  with  a  threat  of  arrest  and 
prison.  Is  it  not  true  that  a  man  holding  high  of 
fice  in  one  of  your  leading  New  York  churches, 
turned  away  to  starve  in  the  street,  and  commit  sui 
cide,  a  woman  with  whom  he  lived  for  many  years 
as  wife,  in  order  that  he  might  marry  another 
woman  ?  Is  it  not  true  that  this  man,  who  is  before 
high  Heaven  a  murderer,  goes  unrebuked  by  his 
pastor,  who  spends  in  prating  about  political  reform, 
and  in  hunting  for  motes  in  the  eyes  of  the  poor  and 
unfortunate,  the  time  he  might  well  devote  to  the 
beams  of  iniquity  that  confront  him  in  his  own  con 
gregation  ?  To  such  I  say,  in  the  words  of  Christ : 
'Woe  unto  you,  scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites ! 
for  ye  are  as  graves  that  appear  not,  and  the  men 
•that  walk  over  them  are  not  aware  of  them/  How 
many  such  graves  are  before  me  in  this  church  to 
day?  Did  I  not  read  in  your  newspapers  but  yes 
terday  that  a  young  woman  cashier  in  a  Wall  Street 
restaurant  was  discharged  because  she  refused  to 
receive  the  offensive  attentions  of  a,  wealthy  patron 
of  the  place,  and  committed  suicide  as  a  result? 
Perhaps  that  man,  that  murderer,  is  sitting  in  one  of 
these  pews.  Whether  he  is  or  not,  it  is  safe  to  say 
that  he  is  the  associate  in  business  and  so-called  so 
ciety  of  some  of  you.  Far  better  that  you  should 
associate  with  a  physical  leper  than  with  a  monster 
capable  of  thus  driving  an  innocent  girl  to  her 
death." 


172  ADAM     CLARKE 

Suddenly,  as  the  minister  was  pouring  forth  his 
lava  flood  of  truth  and  wrath,  Robert  saw  a  man  in 
one  of  the  rear  pews  stand  up  and  lean  forward, 
gazing  intently  at  the  preacher 

"My  God,"  exclaimed  the  man,  "it's  Jefferson 
Jones!" 

"Yes/*  replied  the  minister,  pausing  in  his  dis 
course,  "I  am  Jefferson  Jones.  I  received  in  good 
faith  the  invitation  you  addressed  to  the  Reverend 
J.  Jones,  of  Chicago,  and  which  was  intended,  I  have 
since  learned,  for  the  Reverend  Joseph  Jones,  of 
that  city.  I  have  not  given  you  the  sermon  you  ex 
pected,  and  that  the  Reverend  Joseph  Jones  would 
probably  have  delivered,  but  I  have  no  apology  to 
make  for  preaching  the  Word  of  God  in  a  building 
intended  to  be  the  temple  of  God." 

Jefferson  Jones  then  stepped  from  the  pulpit,  laid 
aside  his  clerical  robes,  and  retired  from  the  church 
without  a  godspeed  or  a  goodbye. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

DEATH    OF    MRS.    CLARKE. 

TAUGHT  by.  the  experience  of  others  and  their 
own,  Mrs.  Clarke  and  her  children,  after  their  re 
turn  to  New  York,  said  nothing  about  having  lived 
in  Pittsburgh.  They  took  a  floor  in  a  tenement 
house  on  the  upper  East  Side,  and  Robert  and  Alex 
ander  went  forth  to  seek  work.  They  said  they 
were  immigrants  from  England,  which,  of  course, 
was  true,  and  that  the  family  had  been  connected 
with  the  Great  Western  Engine  Works  at  Somer- 
ton.  Robert  obtained  employment  as  a  laborer 
about  the  yard  of  the  Bronx  Short  Line  Railway, 
and  Alexander  got  a  job  as  a  handler  of  freight. 
The  earnings  of  the  two  young  men  were  enough 
to  keep  the  home  comfortable  in  the  humble  fashion 
to  which  they  had  been  accustomed,  and  they  would 
have  been  happy  but  for  the  thought  of  the  dead 
Martha  and  the  tragic  fate  of  her  baby,  the  darling 
of  them  all.  Mrs.  Clarke  had  never  recovered  from 
the  loss  of  her  little  grandson,  and  when  the  news 
of  Martha's  death  came  to  her,  in  a  last  letter  from 
Andrew  Craig  before  he  started  from  Pittsburgh, 
it  was  too  much  for  her.  The  fact  that  Martha  died 
of  starvation  was  withheld  by  Craig,  but  the  blow, 


174  ADAM    CLARKE 

without  this,  was  enough.  Mrs.  Clarke  sank  grad 
ually  and  uncomplainingly,  and  although  no  physical 
disease  was  apparent,  her  case  became  hopeless.  She 
died  of  a  broken  heart.  Her  children  managed  to 
give  her  a  decent  burial,  and  to  pay  for  a  granite 
slab  to  mark  her  resting  place  in  a  cemetery  beyond 
the  outskirts  of  Brooklyn,  where  lots  could  be  got 
cheaply,  and  then  they  settled  down  to  face  life  as 
best  they  could  without  the  care  and  counsel  of  the 
mother,  who  had  been  more  than  a  mother  to  them. 
Alexander  was  restless.  He  saw  no  future  for 
himself  in  the  East,  and  resolved  to  seek  better  op 
portunities  in  the  region  beyond  the  Far  West,  the 
land  of  gold  and  silver  and  copper,  of  whose  teem 
ing  wealth  he  had  heard  from  childhood,  and  where, 
he  understood,  labor  was  in  demand  at  profitable 
wages.  He  would  never  have  thought  of  taking 
such  a  step  had  his  mother  lived,  but  that  tie  was 
gone,  and  he  felt  that  Allie  and  Wallace  would  be 
safe  with  Robert.  Besides,  Robert,  he  knew,  had 
for  some  time  been  keeping  company  with  a  re 
spectable  young  woman  employed  in  one  of  the 
large  department  stores,  and  they  had  agreed  to  be 
married  as  soon  as  Robert's  family  affairs  would 
permit.  The  intended  wife,  who  was  of  old  Amer 
ican  origin,  and  in  every  way  a  desirable  helpmate, 
had  saved  a  little  money — enough  to  furnish  a  mod 
est  home,  and  was  willing  to  treat  Allie  and  Wal 
lace  as  her  own  children.  Alexander  felt,  therefore, 
that  he  could  be  spared,  and  that  none  of  those  dear 
to  him  would  suffer  on  account  of  his  departure. 
His  railway  acquaintance  enabled  him  to  procure 


DEATH     OF     MRS.     CLARKE  175 

the  privilege  of  working  his  way  through  to  the 
mining  regions  of  Colorado,  and  he  bade  goodbye 
with  tears  and  many  an  embrace  to  the  loved  ones 
left  behind  in  the  great  city.  Before  going  on  his 
journey  he  visited  his  mother's  grave,  and  laid  upon 
it  a  thistle  and  a  rose,  in  memory  of  the  native  lands 
of  his  mother  and  father.  Then  he  knelt  and  kissed 
the  green  sod  beneath  which  she  slept,  and  repeated 
the  prayer  she  had  offered  up  every  evening  at  his 
bedside,  when  he  was  a  child.  A  few  hours  later 
he  was  on  his  way  to  the  Eldorado  of  his  boyhood's 
dreams. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
ROBERT  CLARKE'S  STRUGGLE  WITH  POVERTY. 

MILDRED  LEE,  Robert  Clarke's  wife,  was  about 
two  years  his  junior,  fair  of  face,  devoted  to  home 
and  to  her  husband,  and  as  kind  as  a  mother  could 
be  to  Wallace  and  Allie.  Their  home  was  not  far 
from  the  tenement  in  which  Mrs.  Clarke  had  died, 
and  the  two  children  continued  to  go  to  the  same 
public  school.  When  a  letter  was  received  from 
Mary  Prynne,  Robert's  sister,  telling  that  so  far  no 
little  one  had  come  to  bless  their  home,  and  how  she 
longed  to  have  Wallace  with  her  for  company,  when 
Herbert  was  down  in  the  mine  all  day,  and  some 
times  part  of  the  night,  it  was  with  deep  pain  that 
Robert  and  his  wife  consented  to  let  Wallace  go  to 
Craddocksboro.  The  boy  was  placed  safely  on  the 
train,  ticketed  through,  and  committed  to  the  care 
of  the  conductors  in  whose  trains  he  would  be  car 
ried.  In  due  time  a  telegram  from  Herbert  told  of 
Wallace's  safe  arrival. 

The  household  was  smaller  now,  but  in  the  course 
of  a  year  a  little  boy  came  to  bind  Robert  and  Mil 
dred  in  closer  ties  of  love,  and  they  called  him 
Adam.  Three  years  later  another  boy  made  his  ap 
pearance,  and  they  named  him  Robert. 

176 


CLARKE'S   STRUGGLE  -  .WITH   POVERTY       177 

Robert  worked  harder  than  ever  to  support  the 
household,  and  as  the  task  grew  heavier  his  wife's 
smile  seemed  brighter  and  more  encouraging.  She 
never  met  him  with  a  gloomy  look.  The  day  might 
have  been  one  of  severe  and  exhausting  toil,  with 
all  its  surroundings  tending  to  gloom,  but  Robert 
knew  that  at  home,  at  least,  there  was  sunshine,  and 
his  heart  got  lighter  as  his  steps  brought  him  nearer 
the  threshold. 

Robert  never  had  a  strong  constitution,  however, 
and  one  day  the  doctor  of  the  lodge  to  which  he  be 
longed  told  him  that  he  must  stay  at  home  for  some 
weeks  if  he  wished  to  avoid  fatal  consequences. 
Robert  did  not  heed  the  warning,  for  he  could  not 
endure  the  thought  of  depriving  his  family  of  his 
weekly  earnings.  The  result  was  that  he  fell  seri 
ously  ill. 

The  sick  benefit  was  enough  to  pay  the  rent  and 
bring  a  little  food  into  the  house,  but  on  other  ex 
penses  the  family  soon  fell  behind. 

Robert  Clarke's  illness  took  a  favorable  turn  that 
surprised  the  attending  physician.  It  was  will 
power — a  resolve  to  live  and  struggle  again  for  his 
dear  ones — that  enabled  him  to  shake  off  for  a  time 
the  grasp  of  disease,  and  he  got  out  of  bed  one  day 
and  told  Mildred  he  was  going  back  to  work. 

That  evening  he  returned  with  the  crushing  news 
that  there  had  been  a  reduction  of  force  at  the  rail 
way  yard,  and  there  was  no  place  for  him. 

Then  Allie  fell  sick.  The  young  girl,  whose  bud 
ding  beauty  fulfilled  the  promise  of  her  infant 
charms,  had  worried  herself  into  illness  over  her 


1^8  ADAM     CLARKE 

brother's  condition,  and  his  agony  over  loss  of  work 
threw  her  into  a  fever.  She  had  been  taught  to  call 
Robert  and  Mildred  father  and  mother,  and  no 
child  could  have  been  more  devoted  to  parents  than 
she  was  to  them,  while  they,  on  their  part,  regarded 
her  as  the  angel  of  the  household. 

With  Allie  sick,  her  two  little  boys  to  care  for, 
and  her  husband  out  of  work,  the  lot  of  Mildred 
Clarke  seemed  hard,  indeed;  but  she  bore  up  like 
a  true  American  mother,  and  her  brave  smile  kept 
gloom  from  turning  into  despair. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

TURNING    OFF    THE    GAS. 

ALLIE  CLARKE  was  very  ill.  She  had  been  get 
ting  weaker  and  weaker  as  the  food  supply  in  the 
house  grew  shorter ;  but  she  never  complained.  In 
stead,  she  tried  to  cheer  up  her  brother  and  Mil 
dred — father  and  mother — as  she  had  learned  to 
call  them. 

"You'll  be  all  right  yet,  father,"  she  would  say, 
when  Robert  returned,  haggard  and  disappointed, 
from  his  quest  for  work. 

Then  she  would  wind  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  give  him  a  kiss,  which  seemed  to  bring  new 
light  to  Robert's  eyes,  and  a  smile  to  his  thin,  drawn 
lips. 

When  the  scant  meal  was  laid  on  the  table  Allie 
would  say  that  she  wasn't  hungry,  and  she  seemed 
to  be  happy  watching  Robert  and  Mildred  and  little 
Adam  and  baby  Robert  eat  what  would  have  been 
her  share. 

"I'm  not  hungry  a  bit,  mother,"  she  said,  when 
urged  to  come  to  the  table.  I  don't  feel  like  eating 
anything.  You  eat  it  right  up  so  it  won't  be  wasted." 

But  Allie  grew  paler  and  thinner,  and  one  morn 
ing  she  reeled  and  fainted. 
179 


ISO  ADAM     CLARKE 

There  was  no  money  for  a  doctor,  but  Dr.  Jenks, 
who  lived  on  the  next  block,  was  kind-hearted,  and 
willing  to  wait  for  his  pay. 

"The  child  is  starving,"  he  said,  after  a  brief  ex 
amination.  Get  her  some  broth — chicken  broth,  to 
begin  with — then  follow  it,  when  she  gets  stronger, 
with  eggs  and  other  nutritious  food." 

Chicken  broth !  There  was  still  half  a  dollar  left 
in  the  house,  the  remainder  of  a  dollar  which  the 
father  had  earned  by  an  odd  job  two  days  before. 
Mrs.  Clarke  hurried  around  to  the  butcher  and  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  half  a  chicken  for  that  price. 

She  hastened  home.  Taking  a  pan  she  prepared 
to  make  the  broth. 

There  was   a  knock  at  the  door  of  the  flat. 

"Here's  your  gas  bill.  It's  overdue  two  weeks. 
I  must  turn  it  off  at  once  unless  you  pay !" 

"Please  don't,"  begged  the  mother.  "I  have  no 
money  now,  but  I'm  just  going  to  cook  something 
for  my  sick  little  girl.  Please  put  it  off  a  week !" 

"Can't.  Orders  are  to  turn  off  if  I  don't  get  the 
money — two  dollars  and  sixty  cents!" 

"Oh,  what  shall  I  do !  What  shall  I  do !"  cried 
the  wretched  Mildred. 

"Go  to  the  office  and  tell  'em,  and  perhaps  they'll 
order  it  turned  on  again,"  said  the  man,  as  he  went 
to  the  meter,  turned  off  the  gas,  and  walked  out. 

"I  can't  leave  Allie !  Run,  Adam,  run  to  the  gas 
office,  and  ask  them  to  turn  on  the  gas !  Tell  them 
your  sister's  very  sick." 

Adam  toddled  off  as  fast  as  his  little  legs  could 
carry  him. 


TURNING     OFF     THE     GAS  iSl 

"Mamma  wanth  to  know  if  you'll  turn  on  the 
gath,"  he  said  to  the  first  clerk  he  saw. 

"Thitherth  very  thick/'  he  went  on,  when  he 
perceived  that  the  clerk  was  listening. 

"Gas  has  been  turned  off,  eh?"  remarked  the 
clerk. 

"Mr.  Rundle,"  said  the  clerk,  turning  to  the  man 
ager,  who  stood  near,  "here's  a  boy  says  his  sis 
ter's  sick,  and  he  asks  to  have  the  gas  turned  on." 

The  manager  shook  his  head.  "The  fact  is,"  he 
replied,  "I  was  hauled  over  yesterday  by  Mr.  Stone- 
filler,  our  president,  for  being  too  easy.  He  says 
the  gas  must  be  turned  off  in  all  cases  where  bills 
are  not  promptly  paid."  "Can't  do  it,  my  boy," 
added  the  manager,  nodding  to  Adam,  "unless  you 
pay  the  bill." 

Adam  turned  away.  He  knew  that  turning  off 
the  gas  was  bad  for  Allie  and  the  family.  He  did 
not  know  that  the  manager's  words  were  a  sentence 
of  death  for  Allie.  He  trotted  home. 

His  mother  stood  expectant,  the  chicken  in  cold 
water  on  the  range. 

"They  won't  turn  it  on,  ma,"  he  said,  "unless  we 
pay  the  money." 

"Mother,  can  I  have  the  broth  now  ?"  said  a  faint 
voice  from  the  bed.  I — I  can  hardly  speak,  mother." 

"It  isn't — it  isn't  ready  yet,  Allie,"  answered  the 
heartbroken  mother,  stifling  a  sob. 

"I'll  run  to  Dr.  Jenks — perhaps  he  will  get  some 
one  to  help  us.  Adam,  stay  till  I  come  back." 

She  flew  to  the  doctor's  office. 

"Well,  have  you  given  her  tire  broth  yet?"  asked 
the  dottor. 


1 82  ADAM     CLARKE 

"Oh,  doctor,  they've  turned  off  the  gas!"  cried 
Mrs.  Clarke,  as  the  tears  burst  forth. 

Dr.  Jenks  had  a  good  soul.  He  knew  what  the 
words  meant.  "I'll  go  back  with  you,"  he  rejoined, 
and  slipping  a  vial  of  brandy  into  his  pocket,  he 
hurried  to  Mrs.  Clarke's  home. 

The  figure  on  the  bed  was  quiet. 

The  doctor  felt  the  pulse — then  the  heart. 

"It's  too  late,  Mrs.  Clarke,"  he  said  gently. 
"She's  gone  where  hunger  will  not  trouble  her. 
Half  an  hour  ago  she  might  have  been  saved — but 
it's  all  over  now." 


And  as  Robert  Clarke  came  home  that  evening, 
after  at  length  obtaining  work,  he  picked  up  from 
the  street  a  discarded  evening  newspaper.  He  read 
in  broad  lines  the  heading :  "Grandchild  of  Stone- 
filler,  the  great  gas  millionaire,  is  dead  of  scarlet 
fever."  And  later  in  the  night,  as  he  clasped  his 
own  darling  dead  to  his  bosom,  he  muttered  the 
words  he  had  read  in  the  Sacred  Book:  "Venge 
ance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord.  I  will  repay."* 

*  It  may  be  of  interest  to  the  reader  to  know  that,  shortly 
after  the  pages  describing  the  cutting  off  the  gas  and  the  life 
of  a  sick  child  were  written,  I  learned  through  a  member  of  my 
family  of  an  instance  of  peculiar  heartlessness  on  the  part  of 
the  Standard  Gas  Company,  chiefly  or  largely  owned  by  John 
D.  Rockefeller,  the  Standard  Oil  millionaire.  An  employe  of 
the  company  was  sent  to  a  tenement  where  the  gas  bill  was 
unpaid  with  an  order  to  cut  off  the  gas.  The  woman  of  the 
house  pointed  to  her  babe,  dying  of  pneumonia,  and  asked  to 
be  spared  until  the  following  Monday.  Hardened  as  the  agent 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE     CHARITY     ROUNDABOUT     SOCIETY. 

THE  Reverend  Pursecloth  sat  in  the  handsomely 
upholstered  offices  of  the  Charity  Roundabout  So 
ciety,  of  which  he  was  Secretary  and  Treasurer. 
He  had  just  returned  from  luncheon,  and  felt  satis 
fied  with  himself  and  things  in  general.  Before 
him  lay  several  letters.  He  opened  one.  It  had  a 
crest — a  lion  and  a  tiger — the  tiger  reclining  list 
lessly,  as  if  in  secure  contempt  of  the  king  of  beasts. 
The  lion  was  supposed  to  be  rampant,  and  the  tiger 
couchant,  so  a  dealer  in  cast-off  coats-of-arms  had 
informed  the  late  Mr.  Spigott,  the  wealthy  brewer 
of  Carmansville,  when,  for  a  valuable  considera 
tion,  he  transferred  to  that  gentleman  the  heraldic 

was  to  scenes  of  misery,  he  was  touched  by  this,  and*  he  wrote 
on  the  back  of  the  bill  that,  if  it  were  not  paid  on  the  following 
Monday,  he  would  pay  the  amount  out  of  his  own  pocket.  He 
then  went  away  without  turning  off  the  gas.  One  of  the  gas 
company's  officials  noticed  on  the  returns  that  the  gas  had  not 
been  turned  off  at  the  tenement  in  question,  and  called  the 
employe  to  account.  The  latter  explained  the  circumstances, 
and  pointed  to  the  entry  on  the  back  of  the  bill.  The  superior 
refused  to  accept  any  excuse,  however,  and  the  humane  employe 
was  dismissed  from  the  service  of  the  company  for  disobedience 
of  orders. 


184  ADAM     CLARKE 

design  which  he  had  spent  an  evening  in  construct 
ing,  and  assured  him  that  it  was  the  identical  mark 
of  nobility  bestowed  on  a  Spigott  of  two  hundred 
and  odd  years  before,  whose  sister  had  the  high 
honor  of  being  waiting  maid  to  Nell  Gwynne  dur 
ing  the  amours  of  the  latter  with  Charles  II.  In 
deed,  the  dealer  in  heraldry  even  thrilled  Mrs.  Spig 
ott  with  a  mysterious  hint  and  a  wink  to  the 
effect  that  the  Merry  Monarch  had  been  known  to 
smile  on  the  sister  in  question ;  and  that,  perhaps — 
well — ah — sometime  he  might  have  an  opportunity 
to  delve  farther  into  the  subject.  And  then  Mr. 
Spigott  handed  over  the  honorarium — as  the  pro 
fessor  of  armorial  lions  and  tigers  called  it — and 
felt  ashamed  that  he  had  done  no  more  for  a  man 
who  had  brought  him  into  such  intimate  connec 
tion  with  royalty — him,  who  had  first  seen  life 
through  the  barred  window  of  a  House  of  Refuge, 
and  received  the  first  name  that  came  to  the  mind 
of  a  rather  maudlin  and  very  illiterate  nurse. 

But  the  Reverend  Pursecloth  knew  nothing  and 
cared  nothing  about  the  heading  of  the  letter.  He 
was  interested  most  in  the  cheque,  rather  an  un 
usual  amount  for  Mrs.  Spigott's  quarterly  contri 
bution  to  the  Charity  Roundabout  Society,  and  he 
read  with  more  attention  than  common  the  follow 
ing  note  that  came  with  it : 

MY  DEAR  MR.  PURSECLOTH  : 

I  hereby  inclose  my  quarterly  donation  to  the  ex 
cellent  work  of  your  society.  You  know  it  is  my 
invariable  rule  to  refer  all  applicants  for  aid  to  you, 


THE     CHARITY     ROUNDABOUT     SOCIETY          185 

and  in  accord  with  that  rule  I  take  the  liberty  of 
calling  your  attention  to  a  case  that  came  under  my 
observation  yesterday.  My  gardener  informs  me 
that  a  family  named  Clarke,  living  on  East  Eighty- 
sixth  Street  (I  think  he  gave  the  number  as  343), 
is  in  great  destitution,  and  had  then — about  two 
days  ago — had  nothing  to  eat  for  twenty- four  hours. 
At  first  I  thought  of  assisting  them  directly,  as  my 
gardener  is  a  trustworthy  man,  and  could  be  relied 
upon  as  to  the  circumstances  of  the  family,  to  the 
extent  of  a  dollar  for  immediate  necessities;  but 
remembering  that  I  would  send  in  my  quarterly 
contribution  to-day,  I  concluded  to  wait  and  call 
your  attention  to  the  case,  at  the  same  time  having 
full  confidence  in  the  discretion  of  the  Charity 
Roundabout  Society,  and  of  yourself,  its  excellent 
secretary.  My  daughter,  Carita,  having  come  of 
age,  I  add  fifty  dollars  in  her  behalf. 

I  am,  Reverend  and  Dear  Sir, 

Your  sister  in  the  Gospel, 

AMANDA  SPIGOTT. 

"Twenty-four  hours — two  days  yesterday — four 
days — well,  they  can  wait  a  few  hours  longer" 
mused  the  Reverend  Whiting  Pursecloth,  "and  if  its 
too  late  the  Board  of  Charities  and  Hart's  Island 
can  save  us  further  expense.  Nothing  like  patience 
and  deliberation  for  bringing  fraud  to  the  surface. 
There  was  that  Livingston,  who  pretended  to  be 
blind.  I  was  sure  he  wasn't.  Too  proud  to  go  to 
the  Board — he  knew  they  would  detect  the  fraud — 
so  he  cut  his  throat  one  day.  That  ended  it — sui- 


1 86  ADAM     CLARKE 

cide  is  confession.  If  I  had  helped  him  he  would 
have  gone  on  pretending  to  be  blind.  True,  doctor 
at  post-mortem  said  the  fellow  was  blind,  but  that 
makes  no  difference,  how  could  a  dead  man  be  any 
thing  else.  See  about  this  family  after  dinner." 

Then  the  Reverend  Pursecloth  opened  another 
letter.  The  handwriting  was  evidently  familiar,  and 
a  faint  trace  of  something  like  natural  affection, 
not  unmixed  with  anxiety,  might  be  noticed  on  the 
sleek  and  meek  features  of  the  charity  dispenser. 
"Dear  father,"  read  the  letter,  which  was  dated  at 
Narragansett  Pier,  "Mother  and  I  are  having  a 
splendid  time."  Then  it  rattled  on  with  an  account 
of  parties,  entertainments,  and  some  slight  intima 
tions  of  pleasant  drives  and  rides  with  a  young  man 
who  had  been  for  some  time  a  favored  companion 
of  Miss  Pursecloth.  A  P.  S.  added  that  the  funds 
in  hand  were  running  short,  and  "would  dear  papa," 
etc.,  etc.  It  did  not  take  long  to  indorse  Mrs. 
Spigott's  cheque,  and  inclose  it  in  a  letter  addressed 
to  Mrs.  Vandereen  Pursecloth,  Hotel  Judith,  Nar 
ragansett  Pier. 

"United  States  Senate — eh!  Wonder  who  that's 
from.  Ah,  Senator  Mute !  No  cheque — what  does 
he  want?" 

"REV.  MR.  PURSECLOTH,  Secretary  of  the  Charity 

Roundabout  Society, 

"Dear  Sir — A  man  who  used  to  be  coachman  for 
my  late  father,  and  who  is  now  between  seventy- 
five  and  eighty  years  of  age,  is  bothering  me  for 
help.  His  name  is  Rogers,  and  he  lives  at  502. 


THE     CHARITY     ROUNDABOUT     SOCIETY 

Charlton  Street,  New  York  City,  according  to  his 
letters.  He  is  annoying  me  very  much.  I  am,  as 
you  know,  a  regular  subscriber,  and  will  send  my 
usual  cheque  in  a  few  days. 

"Yours  truly, 

"GEORGE  PEASOUL  MUTE/' 

Pursecloth  promptly  rang  his  bell,  and  an  in 
dividual  with  a  face  that  would  have  made  the 
average  business  man  instinctively  lock  his  money 
drawer,  made  his  appearance. 

"Hardy,"  said  Pursecloth,  "I  want  you  to  go  to 
502  Charlton  Street  at  once,  and  find  a  man  named 
Rogers.  He's  seventy-five  or  eighty  years  old,  so 
you  ought  to  tell  him  easily.  Impress  on  him  that 
if  he  writes  again  to  Senator  Mute  asking  help,  we 
will  have  him  sent  to  the  island." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Hardy,  "I'll  attend  to  it  at 
once." 

Then  Pursecloth  went  on  with  the  rest  of  his 
mail  in  the  usual  fashion,  and  forgot  all  about  the 
starving  Clarkes. 

But  the  Clarke  family  did  not  perish.  A  kind- 
hearted  saloonkeeper,  hearing  of  their  condition, 
and  of  the  sad  death  of  Allie,  hung  a  subscription- 
box  on  an  electric  pole  in  front  of  his  barroom, 
with  a  brief  statement  of  the  circumstances,  and 
collected  in  about  two  hours  enough,  along  with  a 
generous  contribution  from  himself,  to  give  the 
dead  child  decent  burial,  and  to  supply  the  family's 
needs  until  Clarke  would  bring  home  his  earnings. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
CRADDOCK'S   COAL   MINE  ON   FIRE. 

SHORTLY  after  his  unsuccessful  attempt  to  mur 
der  Herbert  Prynne  by  cutting  the  rope  of  the 
cage,  Michael  Horgwin  went  on  another  journey  to 
Europe  to  gather  in  more  Hunks  for  the  coal 
mines.  His  task  was  more  difficult  than  before,  as 
news  had  begun  to  dribble  back  even  to  the  remoter 
villages  of  the  Magyars  and  Slovaks,  and  other 
Hungarian  nationalities,  that  life  was  held  cheap  by 
the  American  mine  owners,  and  that  while  wages 
were  high  from  the  European  standpoint,  they  did 
not  go  as  far  as  the  lower  wages  of  Hungary,  when 
paid  in  the  form  of  indebtedness  to  a  company 
store.  Horgwin,  however,  found  places  where  the 
people  were  still  ignorant  of  the  conditions  to  which 
he  was  inviting  them,  and  he  managed  to  obtain 
the  necessary  number,  who  were  duly  drilled  in  the 
replies  they  were  to  make  upon  landing  in  America, 
so  as  to  avoid  detention  as  contract  laborers. 

After  the  usual  journey,  which  passed  without 
incident,  the  Hunks  were  landed  at  Craddocks- 
boro.  Horgwin  found  the  ill  feeling  between  his 
iS8 


CRADDOCK'S   COAL   MINE  ON   FIRE         189 

countrymen  and  the  Welsh  much  stronger  than  be 
fore  his  absence.  The  strict  and  impartial  discipline 
enforced  by  Herbert  Prynne — who  was  regarded 
by  the  Hunks  as  a  Welshman — had  much  to  do  with 
this  animosity,  which  showed  itself  more  in  angry 
looks  and  muttered  imprecations  than  in  any  menace 
of  violence. 

Horgwin  could  have  quieted  the  Hunks  with  a 
word.  It  was  part  of  his  duty  to  his  employer  to 
keep  the  element  to  which  he  belonged  orderly  and 
obedient,  and  to  restrain  those  disposed  to  miscon 
duct.  But  instead  of  doing  this  he  fanned  the 
smouldering  fire  into  flame.  He  hated  Prynne  all 
the  more  intensely  because  he  had  failed  in  his  plan 
to  bring  about  Prynne's  death,  and  at  the  same 
time  he  shrank,  partly  through  fear,  and  partly 
through  superstition,  from  making  another  attempt 
on  Prynne's  life.  Coming  from  a  region  where  the 
werewolf,  the  vampire  and  the  witch  are  as  real  to 
the  peasant  mind  as  they  were  to  the  peasantry  of 
Western  Europe  three  hundred  years  ago,  and  su 
perior  to  his  fellows  only  in  cunning,  while  equally 
imbued  with  their  grossly  degraded  ideas  of  the 
supernatural,  Horgwin  half  believed  that  Prynne's 
escape,  when  the  rope  parted  and  the  cage  fell,  was 
not  due  altogether  to  natural  causes,  and  this  feel 
ing  was  strong  enough,  coupled  with  dread  of  de 
tection  and  punishment,  to  make  him  stay  his  hand 
when  his  thoughts  again  turned  to  murderous  re 
venge.  He  was  not  unwilling,  however,  to  excite 
others  to  a  pitch  of  hostility  toward  the  Welsh  in 


I9O  ADAM     CLARKE 

general,  and  Herbert  Prynne  in  particular,  that 
would  be  likely  to  result  in  the  revenge  he  thirsted 
for,  without  any  action  on  his  part.  He  spared  no 
occasion  to  inflame  the  animosity  of  his  countrymen 
against  the  miners  from  Britain,  and  he  did  this 
with  a  cunning  and  subtlety  that  concealed  his  per 
sonal  motive  from  those  whom  he  influenced.  In 
sensate  hate  crystallized  at  length  in  a  scheme  of 
wholesale  murder,  of  which  Horgwin  was  fully 
aware,  although  not  active  in  the  attempt  to  carry 
it  out. 

In  the  forenoon  of  the  day  selected  by  the  plot 
ters  for  their  crime,  every  Hunk,  on  one  pretence 
or  another,  was  out  of  the  mine,  while  nearly  two 
hundred  Welshmen,  with  Herbert  Prynne  in  charge, 
were  toiling  in  the  depths,  six  hundred  feet  below. 
Suddenly  a  fire  started  in  the  breaker,  and  gained 
quick  headway,  as  if  oil  had  been  used  to  promote 
the  conflagration.  The  breaker  boys  made  their 
escape,  while  the  flames  consumed  the  wire  rope  of 
the  cage,  and  went  roaring  down  the  main  shaft. 
Great  volumes  of  smoke  poured  down,  as  well  as 
up,  and  threatened  to  suffocate  everyone  in  the  mine. 
The  Welshmen  were  at  work  in  several  different 
galleries  that  were  being  cut  into  the  great  walls 
of  coal.  The  red  glow  from  above  first  told  them 
of  their  danger.  The  fans  stopped  working,  and 
the  current  of  pure  air  ceased  coming  to  them. 
Their  lamps  went  out,  and  from  fear  of  fire-damp 
they  did  not  dare  to  relight  them. 

There  seemed  no  escape  from  death,  but  not  a 
voice  was  raised  in  fear  or  frenzy. 


CRADDOCK'S   COAL   MINE   ON    FIRE         191 

David  Owen,  who  led  in  hymns  at  the  little  Welsh 
chapel,  started  to  sing  one  of  the  familiar  tunes. 
From  gallery  to  gallery  were  echoed  the  words  of 
praise  and  submission  to  the  will  of  the  Most  High, 
as  clear  and  heartfelt  as  when  the  Men  of  Harlech 
marched  against  the  Saxon,  singing  the  songs  of 
their  native  bards. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  hush. 

The  voice  of  Herbert  Prynne  rang  out  in  words 
of  command. 

"Every  man  follow  me,"  he  cried.  "Those  in  the 
farthest  gallery  first,  and  the  others  in  order.  Keep 
close  behind  each  other,  and  speak  low,  so  as  to 
hear  me.  There  is  an  old,  unused  passage — the 
Mongol  Vein,  it  used  to  be  called — and  we  will 
have  to  follow  it  for  about  three  miles,  but  it  will 
take  us  back  to  our  families.  Close  order  now,  but 
not  too  close !" 

A  faint  cheer  went  up  from  the  miners.  They 
were  no  longer  awaiting  death.  A  chance  remained 
to  return  to  the  upper  air  and  their  loved  ones. 

Herbert  Prynne  had  not  wasted  his  morning 
visits  to  the  mine.  In  his  explorations  he  had  found 
this  old  passage,  discarded  many  years  before,  and 
knew  exactly  its  location.  He  had  also  passed 
through  it  far  enough  to  be  satisfied  that  it  could  be 
used  as  an  exit.  Upon  inquiry  from  an  old  resident 
of  the  neighborhood  he  had  learned  that  the  Mon 
gol  Vein  had  been  the  first  opened  in  the  Craddocks- 
boro  mine,  and  was  given  up  when  it  was  found  that 
a  more  abundant  supply  could  be  obtained  at  the 
present  workings. 


.192  ADAM     CLARKE 

Under  Prynne's  leadership  the  men  made  their 
way  along  the.  galleries,  until  they  reached  the  open 
ing  to  the  old  tunnel.  It  was  a  long  and  difficult 
journey,  and  attended  by  much  stumbling  and  many 
bruises,  but  the  miners  emerged  safe  into  the  open 
air,  about  three  miles  from  the  main  shaft,  from 
which  heavy  clouds  of  black  smoke  could  be  seen 
ascending. 

They  knew  that  their  wives  and  children  were 
near  that  shaft,  with  its  vomit  of  smoke  and  flame, 
bewailing  fathers,  husbands  and  sons  supposed  to 
be  lost  forever.  They  were  impatient  to  start  for 
their  dear  ones,  but  Prynne  cned  in  commanding 
tone: 

"Stand,  and  be  counted !" 

One  was  missing,  Walter  Davies,  the  youngest 
and  weakest  of  the  miners. 

"His  old  mother  will  be  waiting  for  him,"  said 
Prynne,  "and  I'm  going  back  for  him.  The  rest  of 
you  start  for  the  shaft." 

Several  of  the  miners  volunteered  to  accompany 
Prynne,  but  he  refused  their  offers,  saying  that  he 
could  easily  carry  young  Davies  alone,  if  he  needed 
to  be  carried,  and  he  had  no  doubt  of  returning  in 
safety. 

Prynne  made  his  way  back  in  the  old  tunnel  fully 
a  mile  in  the  darkness,  feeling  about  him  and  below 
him  for  a  prostrate  form. 

At  last  he  stumbled  on  Walter  Davies.  Some 
thing  wet  and  clotty  about  the  boy's  hair  told 
Prynne  he  was  hurt,  and  he  was  evidently  sense- 


CRADDOCK'S   COAL   MINE   ON   FIRE         193 

less.  Prynne  lifted  him  gently  on  his  back,  and 
stumbled  along  until  he  reached  the  opening. 

As  he  emerged  with  his  burden,  Mary  rushed 
forward  with  a  cry,  and  almost  fell  at  his  feet.  The 
mother  of  Davies  clasped  her  unconscious  son  and 
gave  his  deliverer  an  old  Welsh  blessing  that,  he 
felt,  more  than  rewarded  him  for  any  risk  he  had 
run. 

Davies,  it  appeared,  was  last  in  the  line  groping 
along  the  tunnel,  and  had  stumbled  and  struck  his 
head  on  a  piece  of  coal,  causing  insensibility.  He 
was  soon  brought  to  consciousness,  and  proved  to 
be  not  seriously  hurt. 

Half  an  hour  later  smoke  began  to  pour  out 
through  the  opening  of  the  Mongol  Vein,  showing 
that  the  mine  interior  was  on  fire. 

Months  passed  before  the  Craddocksboro  mine 
was  again  in  condition  to  be  worked. 

Meantime,  on  the  night  of  the  day  following  the 
fire  a  meeting  of  Welshmen  was  quietly  held  at 
Prynne's  cottage.  Several  of  them  had  acquired 
some  knowledge  of  Hungarian,  and  one  of  these 
testified  to  having  heard  talk  between  the  Hunks 
indicating  that  the  breaker  was  fired  intentionally 
for  the  purpose  of  destroying  the  Welsh  miners  by 
suffocation,  the  expectation  being  that  the  fire  would 
do  no  serious  damage  beyond  this. 

Prynne  laid  the  evidence  before  Craddock.  That 
mine-owner  had  been  strongly  in  favor  of  Hunk 
labor,  and  had  spent  much  money  to  procure  it,  but 
the  destruction  of  his  property  so  exasperated  him 


194  ADAM     CLARKE 

that  he  ordered  every  Hunk  from  Craddocksboro 
and  refused  to  hear  any  defence  from  Michael 
Horgwin,  whom  he  regarded  as  especially  respon 
sible  for  the  crime  of  his  countrymen,  and  whom 
he  dismissed  from  his  service  forever. 

Prynne  was  promoted  to  assistant  superintendent, 
and  was  able  to  make  his  home  more  comfortable 
and  to  send  Wallace  to  school  in  Scranton. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

ROBERT  CLARKE  DIES,   AND   ADAM    TURNS    NEWSBOY. 

ROBERT  CLARKE  toiled  hard  and  faithfully  in  the 
Spuythaven  Iron  Works,  but  wages  were  low,  and 
when  a  little  money  had  been  laid  by  it  was  con 
sumed  in  sickness  or  a  strike.  The  immigration 
from  Scandinavia,  then  at  its  height,  brought  in  a 
vast  number  of  skilled  mechanics,  and  it  was  dif 
ficult  for  unions  to  maintain  their  control  of  the 
labor  market  in  face  of  the  free  admission  of  foreign 
workers,  which  was  encouraged  by  the  very  manu 
facturers  who  demanded  and  secured  an  almost 
prohibitory  tariff  on  foreign  goods  on  the  plea  of 
protecting  the  American  workingman.  Strikes, 
therefore,  were  frequent,  and  often  disastrous  to 
the  strikers.  In  the  course  of  one  of  these  periods 
of  idleness  and  privation,  Robert  Clarke  fell  ill. 
Anxiety  about  his  family,  which  had  been  increased 
by  the  arrival  of  a  little  daughter,  whom  they 
named  Emily,  made  the  illness  worse,  and  the  doc 
tor's  prescriptions  were  not  supplemented  by  a  suf 
ficiency  of  nourishing  food.  One  morning  Mrs. 
Clarke  woke  up,  after  a  short  sleep  following  on  a 
night's  vigil  by  her  husband's  bedside,  to  find  him 
dead.  He  had  been  unconscious  for  some  hours 

195 


196  ADAM     CLARKE 

before,  and  while  her  weary  eyelids  were  closed,  he 
passed  quietly  away.  The  union  treasury  was  very 
low,  but  enough  was  spared  to  save  Robert  Clarke 
from  Potter's  Field,  and  Mrs.  Clarke  was  left  to 
face  the  world,  with  three  young  children,  and 
without  resources,  for  Robert  Clarke  had  never  been 
an  acceptable  insurance  risk. 

It  is  a  common  condition  among  the  struggling 
masses  of  the  New  World  metropolis,  but  not  less 
pathetic  because  it  is  common. 

The  day  after  the  funeral  Mrs.  Clarke  sat  weep 
ing,  with  baby  Emily  at  her  breast,  and  little  Rob 
ert  at  her  knee. 

"I'll  help  you  mother,"  said  Adam;  "don't  cry. 
I  can  sell  papers,  and  earn  perhaps  forty  or  fifty 
cents  a  day.  That  will  buy  bread  and  milk,  mother, 
and  some  meat,  sometimes,  for  you  and  Robert  and 
baby." 

"You're  too  young,  Adam,"  answered  the  mother, 
clasping  him  in  her  arms.  "You  must  go  to  school 
and  learn.  I  would  sooner  starve  than  have  you 
not  to  learn,  my  boy." 

"Why,  mother,  I'm  eleven,  you  know,"  replied 
Adam,  as  he  kissed  her,  "and  I  can  sell  the  papers 
early  in  the  morning  and  after  school." 

The  mother  tried  to  speak  again,  but  her  voice 
choked,  and  she  did  not  answer.  She  thought  of 
her  little  baby,  to  which  she  was  hardly  able  to  sup 
ply  nutriment ;  she  thought  of  the  bread  and  tea  of 
that  day's  dinner ;  of  Adam  handing  her  the  crusts, 
and  saying  he  was  not  hungry,  when  she  knew 
he  was  starving,  and  her  feelings  were  too  much 


ADAM     TURNS     NEWSBOY  197 

for  words.  The  last  penny  was  gone,  and  there  was 
nothing  for  supper  and  no  trust  at  the  grocer's. 

Adam  started  out.  On  his  way  to  Eighth  Ave 
nue  he  passed  a  fat  officer  of  the  Charity  Round 
about  Society,  who  looked  at  him  as  if  he  might  be 
a  subject  for  investigation.  A  kindhearted  news 
dealer  let  the  boy  have  twenty  papers  on  his  honest 
face,  and  he  started  eagerly  to  selling. 

Little  Adam's  voice  was  weak,  and  he  was  not 
able  to  cry  his  wares  as  loud  as  some  of  the  other 
boys.  He  had  sold  five  or  six  papers,  and  it  was 
approaching  dark.  The  brave  little  fellow  could 
not  repress  a  tear,  as  he  thought  that  he  would  have 
to  go  home  to  his  mother  without  the  money  he 
had  hoped  to  earn.  He  raised  his  sleeve  to  wipe 
the  tear  away. 

"Hello,  Johnny,  wot  'er  yer  cryin'  for?"  asked  a 
cheery  voice  beside  him.  "You're  a  greeny,  and 
can't  sell  yer  papers,  eh?  Well,  let  me  help  yer." 

And  a  good-natured  Irish  face  beamed  on  Adam. 
The  owner  of  the  face  was  about  fourteen,  and 
looked  as  if  he  had  a  good  home  and  plenty  to  eat. 
In  truth  he  had  no  home,  but  the  Newsboys'  Lodg 
ing  House;  but  he  knew  how  to  sell  papers  and 
made  money  enough  to  buy  clothes  and  keep  his 
stomach  full.  He  took  Adam's  bundle  of  papers, 
dashed  here  and  there,  seeming  to  be  known  every 
where,  and  soon  disposed  of  the  lot.  Then  he 
counted  out  the  change  to  Adam. 

"Yer  hungry.  I  can  see  it.  Come  an'  take  sup 
per  with  me — I'll  stand  treat,"  said  the  boy,  whose 
name  was  Charley  Murphy. 


198  ADAM  CLARKE 

"Not  now,"  said  Adam,  "thank  you.  I  must  pay 
for  the  papers,  and  go  home  to  mother.  She's  got 
nothing  to  eat!" 

"Wot!  How  much  yer  got? — twenty  cents;  pay 
for  papers — ten  cents  left — go  home  to  buy  supper 
for  yer  mudder  wid  dat!"  exclaimed  Murphy. 

Adam  did  not  answer.  The  look  of  agony  on  his 
pinched,  drawn  face  told  his  story. 

"See  here,  kids,"  cried  Murphy,  turning  to  the 
other  boys.  "This  kid's  only  got  ten  cents  sellin' 
papes,  an'  his  mudder's  starvin.'  I'll  chip  in  a 
quarter  for  him !" 

They  all  chipped  in,  for  the  newsies  knew  what 
it  was  to  be  hungry,  and  some  of  them  had  known 
what  it  was  to  be  friendless  in  the  great  city.  A 
dollar  was  raised  altogether,  and  when  the  news 
dealer  who  had  let  Adam  have  the  papers  heard  the 
story  he  refused  payment  for  them. 

That  night  the  Clarkes  feasted  on  bread  and  milk, 
and  had  some  change  left  over. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ADAM'S    LEG   CRUSHED  —  CHARLEY   MURPHY   GOES 
WITH  HIM  TO  THE  HOSPITAL. 

ADAM  got  up  early  in  the  morning,  and  paid 
twenty  cents  for  papers,  which  he  sold  with  the 
help  of  Charley  Murphy.  The  two  boys  became 
inseparable,  and  Adam  insisted  on  Charley  coming 
to  the  "house"  and  seeing  his  mother. 

Charley  promised  to  go,  and  a  Sunday  afternoon 
was  set  for  the  visit.  There  would  be  no  papers  to 
sell  then. 

It  was  on  the  Friday  before  that  Adam  was  run 
ning  across  Eighth  Avenue  to  meet  a  prospective 
customer.  He  passed  in  the  rear  of  one  "trolley" 
car,  as  the  electric  cars  are  called  in  New  York,  and 
did  not  see  another  coming.  His  eyes  were  on  the 
customer.  The  motorman  saw  htm,  and  made  des 
perate  efforts  to  stop  the  car.  He  was  quick  enough 
to  save  Adam's  life,  but  a  wheel  was  almost  resting 
on  Adam's  right  leg,  crushing  the  bone,  as  the  car 
came  to  a  halt. 

A  policeman  ran  to  where  the  boy  lay,  and  a  large 
throng  of  spectators  gathered,  expecting  to  see  the 
little  newsboy  dead  under  the  car.  Women  shrieked 
and  wept,  and  angry  men  threatened  the  motor 
man. 

199 


200  ADAM     CLARKE 

The  policeman  found  that  Adam  could  be  taken 
from  under  the  car  without  suffering  further  in 
jury,  and  he  lifted  the  little  body  and  tenderly  car 
ried  him  into  a  neighboring  store,  at  the  same  time 
telling  a  spectator  to  call  up  an  ambulance. 

Adam  was  conscious  when  taken  from  under  the 
car.  "Don't  tell  mother,"  he  whispered,  as  the  pain 
of  his  crushed  limb  proved  too  much  for  him,  and 
he  passed  into  unconsciousness. 

The  ambulance  arrived,  and  Adam  was  lifted  into 
it. 

A  boy  elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd. 

"Lemme  go,  too !  I  want  to  go  with  Adam !"  he 
cried. 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  the  ambulance  surgeon. 

"I'm  his  pal — I'm  Charley  Murphy,"  replied  the 
boy  eagerly.  "Please  lemme  go — he'll  want  to  see 
me  when  he  wakes." 

"Better  let  him  go,  too,"  said  the  policeman,  kind 
ly,  "if  you  have  room.  I  guess  he'll  be  a  help  to 
you." 

Charley  was  bundled  into  the  ambulance,  and  it 
started  off. 

Examination  at  the  hospital  quickly  showed  that 
Adam's  leg  was  crushed  beyond  saving,  just  below 
the  knee,  and  that  the  sooner  it  would  be  amputated 
the  more  speedy  and  certain  his  recovery 

Charley  Murphy  asked  to  be  allowed  in  the  oper 
ating-room.  He  promised  to  be  quiet  and  not  inter 
fere,  and  the  surgeons,  touched  by  his  devotion  to 
his  friend,  allowed  him  to  be  near  the  table.  Mean- 


ADAMS     LEG     CRUSHED  2OI 

time,  while  the  arrangements  were  being  made, 
Adam  recovered  consciousness.  As  his  eyes  opened 
they  met  the  anxious,  pleasant  face  of  Charley  Mur 
phy. 

"Where  am  I?"  asked  Adam,  faintly. 

"Ye're  in  the  horspittle,"  replied  Charley,  as  soft 
ly  as  he  knew  how.  "An"  don't  be  scared.  Ye'll 
come  out  all  right.  Yer  fell  under  a  car,  but  it 
didn't  kill  yer — only  crushed  yer  leg." 

"Does  mother  know  it?"  asked  Adam. 

"No;  T  don't  think  she  does,"  answered  Charley. 
"Anyhow,  I  haven't  told  where  you  lived.  I'm  goin' 
to  tell  her  myself,  as  soon  as  I  see  ye  thro'  all  right." 

"Poor  mother,"  said  Adam — and  his  eyes  seemed 
to  swim — "she'll  get  no  money  to-night." 

"Yes,  she  will,"  spoke  Charley  quickly.  "I've 
been  savin'  'mun'  to  get  a  suit  of  close  wid  to  go 
to  yer  house  Sunday.  It's  six  dollars,  an'  I'll  give 
it  all  to  yer  mudder.  An',  Adam,  I'll  take  'er  my 
mun  ev'ry  day  till  yer  out  of  the  horspittle.  So 
don't  worry,  yer  mudder'll  be  all  right." 

"Oh,  Charley,  how  good  you  are — how  good 
you've  been  to  me" — and  tears  rolled  down  Adam's 
pale  face. 

Charley  had  hard  work  keeping  the  tears  back 
too. 

Just  then  the  doctors  came  up  to  apply  anaesthe 
tics  and  begin  the  operation. 

When  Adam  revived  Charley  was  there.  Adam 
gave  his  pal  a  look  of  recognition,  but  was  too  weak 
to  speak.  The  doctors  assured  Charley  Murphy 


2O2  ADAM     CLARKE 

that  everything  was  favorable  to  the  ultimate  recov 
ery  of  his  friend,  and  he  could  go  and  carry  the 
news  to  Adam's  mother. 

Mrs.  Clarke  was  getting  anxious.  Adam  had 
never  stayed  so  late  before.  She  had  a  treat  for  him 
that  evening — apple  dumplings — a  luxury  they 
could  rarely  afford ;  but  Adam  had  made  sixty  cents 
on  his  papers  the  day  before,  and  she  had  earned 
forty  cents  sewing. 

A  knock  came,  and  she  opened  the  door.  A  boy 
stood  there  she  did  not  know.  He  had  a  winning 
face,  and  that  Mrs.  Clarke  saw,  but  she  did  not  see 
that  he  had  been  crying. 

"Are  yer  Adam's  mudder,  mum  ?"  he  said,  taking 
off  his  cap. 

"Yes,  my  boy,  where  is  he?    Who  are  you?" 

"I'm  his  pal — Charley  Murphy,  mum.  He  can't 
come  home  to-night,  so  he  sent  yer  this  six  dollars, 
mum." 

"Come  in,  Charley.  How  often  I've  heard  Adam 
speak  of  you,  and  how  good  you've  been  to  him ! 
Six  dollars!  Where  is  he?  Where  did  he  get  six 
dollars?"  cried  the  anxious  and  excited  mother. 

"He's  been  hurt,  mum,  an'  he's  in  the  horspittle; 
but  he's  out  of  danger,  mum ;  the  doctors  told  me  to 
tell  you  he'll  be  all  right!"  answered  Murphy,  in 
hesitating  tones,  as  he  saw  the  effect  on  the  mother. 

Little  Robert  ran  up  as  she  tottered  and  fell,  cry 
ing,  "Oh,  mamma,  what  is  the  matter  with  Adam  ?" 

Murphy  caught  her  "in  his  arms  and  gently  drew 
her  to  a  chair,  st'ill  holding  her. 

She   had   not   fainted;   she  was   like  a   woman 


ADAM'S   LEG   CRUSHED  203 

stunned.  Recovery  came  at  last,  and  she  was  able 
to  think  and  speak. 

"Oh,  tell  me  what  has  happened  to  Adam?"  she 
cried.  "Where  is  my  brave,  my  noble  boy?  Oh, 
why  did  I  let  him  sell  papers  ?" 

Fortunately,  tears  burst  out,  and  saved  the 
mother's  reason. 

"The  doctors  don't  want  you  to  see  him  yet, 
mum,"  said  Charley,  softly.  "It  would  only  hurt 
him  now.  They'll  tell  you  when  to  come.  You 
take  this  mun.  It's  mine,  and  you  can  have  it  for 
Adam's  sake,  and  if  you'll  let  me  stay  here  till  Adam 
comes  back  I  will  be  very  glad  to." 

The  widowed  mother  clasped  Charley  to  her 
breast. 

"Stay,  and  welcome,"  she  said.  "But,  oh,  when 
can  I  see  my  boy  ?" 

Charley  told  her  Adam  was  all  right  that  night 
and  needed  rest,  and  he  would  find  out  next  day 
when  she  could  see  him.  This  pacified  Mrs.  Clarke 
for  the  time,  and  Charley  told  her  as  gently  as  pos 
sible  of  the  accident.  He  also  repeated  his  offer 
to  bring  his  earnings  into  the  household  until  Adam 
recovered,  and  after,  too,  if  Adam's  mother  should 
be  willing,  and  Mrs.  Clarke  felt  that  she  had  an-r 
other  son. 

On  the  next  morning  Charley  telephoned  from 
the  nearest  drug  store  to  the  hospital,  and  learned 
that  Adam  was  still  weak,  but  progressing  favor 
ably,  and  that  it  would  be  best  for  visits  to  be  de 
ferred  for  a  day  or  two,  so  as  to  save  him  from  ex 
citement. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MRS.      CLARKE      HAS     SOME     VISITORS. 

SHORTLY  after  breakfast,  when  Charley  had  gone 
to  sell  his  morning  papers,  Mrs.  Clarke  had  a  visi 
tor.  It  was  the  fat  officer  from  the  Charity  Round 
about  Society. 

"Hum,"  he  said,  with  a  mixture  of  pomposity 
and  sternness,  mingled  with  an  offensive  leer  at  the 
good-looking  widow,  "what  is  your  name?" 

Mrs.  Clarke  thought  the  man  was  perhaps  from 
the  hospital,  and  answered  him. 

"Do  you  use  intoxicating  liquors?"  was  the  next 
query. 

Mrs.  Clarke  thought  the  question  insulting,  but 
supposing  that  she  would  help  her  boy  and  please 
the  hospital  authorities,  she  answered  that  and 
further  queries,  among  which  were : 

"How  many  children  have  you?" 

"Was  your  husband  ever  in  prison  ?" 

"Why  don't  you  go  out  scrubbing?"  and  so  forth. 

The  visitor  finally  said :    "I  am  an  official  of  the 

Charity  Roundabout  Society,  and  if,  after  further 

investigation,  which  will  probably  occupy  about  two 

weeks  in  obtaining  necessary  details,  we  find  you 

204 


MRS.     CLARKE     HAS     SOME     VISITORS  2O5 

worthy,  we  will  be  prepared  to  assist  you  upon 
proper  application." 

"Assist  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clarke,  angrily. 
"What  do  you  mean?  I  have  asked  for  none  of 
your  assistance.  This  is  an  outrage  and  an  imper 
tinence." 

"Well,  I  have  only  done  my  duty.  The  attention 
of  Reverend  Pursecloth,  secretary  of  the  Charity 
Roundabout  Society,  has  been  called  to  the  story 
in  the  papers  about  your  son  being  injured  by  a 
trolley  car,  and  I  have  been  instructed  to  make  a 
preliminary  investigation  regarding  you.  If  you 
are  found  worthy,  the  Reverend  Pursecloth  will 
submit  your  case  to  the  Charity  Committee  of  St. 
Thomas's  vestry." 

Mrs.  Clarke,  her  grief  and  weakness  overpowered 
by  anger  at  the  arrogance  and  impudence  of  her 
caller,  cast  a  glance  toward  a  broom  in  the  corner. 
The  agent  of  the  Charity  Roundabout  Society 
noticed  the  look,  and  hastily  retired. 

In  the  early  afternoon  another  knock  came. 

This  visitor  looked  more  like  a  clergyman,  with 
his  face  shaven  but  for  side-whiskers,  his  white  tie 
and  coat  of  clerical  cut.  He  looked  at  Mrs.  Clarke 
through  gold-rimmed  eyeglasses,  as  he  said : 

"I  am  the  district  visitor,  madam,  of  the  Poverty 
Investigation  Guild.  I  understand  from  the  news 
papers  that  an  accident  has  happened  to  your  son, 
a  newsboy,  and  that  you  are  in  indigent  circum 
stances.  Mr.  Bellows,  president  of  our  Guild,  is 
preparing  a  paper  to  be  read  before  the  American 
Association  of  Poverty  Investigation  Guilds,  next 


206  ADAM    CLARKE 

month,  on  "The  Ancestral  Degeneracy  of  the  Poorer 
Classes/'  and  he  thinks  that  some  facts  as  to  your 
origin  and  ancestry  might  be  of  value  to  him." 

A  rubicund  face  appeared  in  the  open  doorway, 
with  a  jolly  expression  that  suddenly  became  a 
frown. 

"Get  out  of  the  way — what  are  you  botherin'  the 
woman  for !"  said  the  owner  of  the  face  as  he  seized 
the  clerical-looking  individual  by  the  neck,  and  with 
a  quick  jerk  threw  him  out  on  the  landing. 

"Here's  twenty  dollars  that  the  district  leader 
sent  you,  ma'am,"  said  the  latest  arrival,  "and  the 
grocer  at  the  corner's  been  told  to  trust  you  five 
dollars  a  week  till  I  tell  him  to  stop.  Beg  pardon, 
ma'am,  I'm  in  a  hurry,  for  I  belong  in  the  pool-room 
around  on  the  avenue,  and  its  almost  time  for  the 
races  to  come  in.  No,  thanks — don't  cry" — as  he 
handed  over  the  money.  "If  you  need  any  more 
help  just  send  around  to  the  pool-room,  and  ask  for 
Tim,  the  marker." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ANDREW    CRAIG    COMES    HOME    AGAIN. 

Two  decades  had  passed  since  the  great  Pitts 
burgh  railway  strike.  A  middle-aged  man,  bronzed 
and  erect,  with  a  streak  of  gray  in  his  tawny  hair, 
got  off  a  train  from  New  York  in  the  Union  Sta 
tion  in  Pittsburgh.  He  was  well-dressed  and  seemed 
prosperous.  He  carried  a  satchel,  and  ordered  his 
baggage  to  be  sent  to  the  Monongahela  Hotel.  He 
then  entered  a  carriage,  and  told  the  driver  to  take 
him  straight  to  a  suburban  cemetery.  Half  an  hour 
later  Andrew  Craig  knelt  before  the  grave  of 
Martha  and  his  boy.  It  was  unmarked,  but  he  re 
membered  the  spot  through  its  nearness  to  another 
burial  lot,  in  which  stood  a  monument,  of  which  he 
had  taken  note  when  his  boy  and  his  wife  were  in 
terred. 

Andrew  Craig  did  not  weep.  His  grief  had  long 
ago  become  absorbed  in  the  deep,  lasting  determina 
tion  which  possessed  his  soul  to  overthrow  the  sys 
tem  of  industrial  slavery,  two  of  whose  victims  lay 
in  that  humble  grave.  He  registered  anew  over  the 
dust  of  his  dear  ones  the  vow  which  he  had  often 
uttered  to  himself  in  his  camp  in  the  Mexican  hills, 
and  in  the  depth  of  Mexican  mines,  that  he  would 

207 


208  ADAM     CLARKE 

not  rest  until  the  people — the  plain,  common  people 
of  the  United  States — should  again  be  their  own 
masters  in  fact  as  well  as  in  name,  and  until  the 
enormous  conspiracy  of  trusts  and  corporations 
against  the  life  of  the  republic  should  be  shattered 
and  ground  beneath  the  tread  of  triumphant  Amer 
icanism. 

Andrew  Craig  was  no  longer  a  poor  man.  He 
was  not  enormously  wealthy,  but  fortune  had  been 
kind  to  him  in  his  exile.  When  the  bloodhounds  of 
vengeful  monopoly  took  their  fangs  from  his  throat 
and  his  natural  talents  were  allowed  to  exert  them 
selves  freely  under  an  alien  flag,  his  progress  had 
always  been  upward.  He  quickly  acquired  a  knowl 
edge  of  the  Spanish- American  language,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  he  was  master  of  the  simple  methods 
of  Mexican  mining,  and  able  to  improve  upon  them. 
He  had  the  tact  "to  do  in  Rome  as  Rome  does,"  and 
not  to  offend  the  susceptibilities  of  those  above  him 
or  below  him.  His  abilities  as  a  leader  of  men  be 
came  apparent  to  the  mine  owners,  and  he  was  grad 
ually  promoted  from  one  place  of  trust  to  another, 
until  he  received  a  salary  only  second  to  that  of  the 
chief  manager  of  one  of  the  largest  silver  mines 
in  Guanajuato.  His  expenses  were  small,  and  his 
savings  accumulated  until  he  was  comparatively 
rich. 

The  improvement  in  the  internal  condition  of 
Mexico  under  the  rule  of  President  Diaz  was  be 
coming  more  and  more  manifest,  and  the  Federal 
authorities  saw  in  Craig  a  man  well  qualified  to  take 
part  in  the  suppression  of  brigandage,  which  had 


ANDREW     CRAIG     COMES     HOME     AGAIN 

been  the  bane  of  the  mining  regions.  He  was  put 
in  command  of  the  rural  police  of  his  district,  and 
learned  in  this  capacity  the  use  of  arms  and  military 
discipline.  He  had  several  encounters  with  the  for 
midable  bands  of  robbers  who  lived  by  the  plunder 
of  mining  camps  and  treasure  trains,  and  his  per 
sonal  courage,  his  skill  and  strategy,  fully  justified 
the  confidence  placed  in  him.  Brigandage  disap 
peared  from  the  vicinity  in  which  he  operated,  and 
industry  prospered  and  progressed  under  the  pro 
tection  of  law,  severely  and  impartially  enforced. 
Had  Craig  chosen  to  give  up  forever  all  thoughts 
of  return  to  his  native  land  he  might  have  risen  to 
high  honors  in  Mexico.  But  his  mind  never 
swerved  from  its  purpose.  Behind  every  squalid 
Mexican  brigand  his  mental  vision  saw  the  more 
dangerous  brigands  of  monopoly,  who  preyed  upon 
American  manhood  and  womanhood,  and  revelled 
in  the  wealth  wrung  from  the  toiling  American 
masses.  The  picture  of  his  dying  boy,  shot  to  death 
by  the  uniformed  minions  of  corporate  tyranny,  the 
vision  of  his  faithful  wife,  starved  to  death  by  mon 
opoly's  blacklisting  decree  because  he — her  husband 
— had  dared  to  disobey  the  mandate  of  a  powerful 
railway,  were  ever  before  him,  and  with  every  sun 
set  and  sunrise  he  renewed  to  those  sacred  memories 
his  pledge  to  do  what  he  could  toward  the  redemp 
tion  of  his  people. 

At  length  Craig  felt  that  the  time  had  come  for 
his  return.  He  had  in  recent  years  subscribed  for 
two  leading  American  newspapers,  and  kept  him 
self  well  informed  as  to  the  social  and  political 


S2IO  ADAM     CLARKE 

changes  which  were  going  on  in  the  United 
States. 

From  public  and  private  information  he  became 
convinced  that  the  time  was  ripe  for  action,  that  the 
trusts  had  strained  the  popular  patience  almost  to 
the  breaking  point,  and  that  even  the  most  simple 
were  beginning  to  perceive  that  a  struggle  between 
the  people  and  their  despots  was  inevitable.  He 
saw  that  without  organization  all  efforts  on  the  part 
of  the  people  would  be  hopeless,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  popular  will,  molded  and  welded  into 
a  hammer  of  Thor,  would  crush  into  dust  any  an 
tagonist  that  should  dare  to  face  its  descending 
blow.  He  resolved  to  go  back  to  the  United  States 
and  do  his  part  in  the  work  of  deliverance. 

Craig  had  nearly  one  hundred  thousand  dollars 
on  deposit  in  the  Bank  of  Mexico,  and  taking  a  suf 
ficient  amount  in  money  for  his  traveling  expenses, 
and  the  remainder  in  letters  of  credit,  he  started  for 
his  old  home  in  Pittsburgh  by  the  way  of  steamer 
for  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE     CONVERSION     OF     CRADDOCK. 

AFTER  visiting  the  grave  of  his  wife  and  child 
Andrew  Craig  sought  out  his  relatives,  the  Dennys, 
with  whom  he  had  corresponded  while  in  Mexico. 
Their  joy  at  meeting  him  need  not  be  described. 
Denny,  being  in  the  local  militia,  had  not  taken  part 
with  the  strikers  in  their  struggle  against  the  Penn 
sylvania  Railway,  and  his  relationship  to  Craig, 
through  his  wife,  Craig's  sister,  being  but  little 
known,  he  had  escaped  the  blacklist.  He  and  his 
family  were  in  a  comfortable  home,  and  as  a  skilled 
mechanic  he  had  regular  employment.  Denny  told 
his  brother-in-law  of  Prynne's  well-earned  good 
fortune  at  Craddocksboro,  and  a  longing  to  see  some 
member  of  the  family  to  which  his  dead  but  still 
loved  wife  belonged,  moved  Craig  to  visit  that 
place. 

It  was  a  very  different  village  from  that  which 
had  met  the  eyes  of  young  Prynne  more  than  twenty 
years  before.  Prynne  had  for  several  years  been 
superintendent  of  -the  Craddocksboro  mine,  and  pos 
sessed  the  fullest  confidence  and  esteem  of  his  em 
ployer,  who  had  learned  and  profited  by  the  lesson 

211 


212  ADAM     CLARKE 

that  cheap  labor  is  not  always  cheap,  and  that  min 
ers  should  not  be  treated  merely  as  machines  for  dig 
ging  out  coal.  As  energetic  as  ever  in  the  pursuit 
of  profit,  Craddock  was  no  longer  blind  to  every 
thing  save  greed  and  gain.  He  spent  money  in  im 
proving  the  village,  and  in  converting  it  from  a 
group  of  cabins  on  the  bleak  hillside  into  a  pic 
turesque  cluster  of  neat  and  happy  homes,  contrast 
ing  most  favorably  with  the  average  mining  town. 
He  built  a  residence  for  himself  near  the  village, 
at  which  he  spent  much  of  his  time,  and  where  Mrs. 
Craddock,  a  New  England  woman  of  superior  type, 
devoted  herself  to  making  home  pleasant  for  her 
husband  and  children,  and  spreading  sunshine  in 
the  homes  of  her  husband's  employes.  Indeed, 
Craddock's  marriage  to  this  excellent  woman  had 
been  the  turning  point  in  his  career,  and  her  influ 
ence,  tactfully  exercised  without  dictation  or  irrita 
tion,  was  the  principal  agency  in  preparing  him  to 
take  a  kinder  attitude  toward  his  fellowmen  of 
humbler  fortune.  Years  had  passed  before  Mrs. 
Craddock  was  able  to  make  an  impression  on  her 
husband's  character  and  conduct,  but  almost  insen 
sibly  to  him  his  harsh  disposition  absorbed  a  share 
of  her  sweetness,  and  her  true  womanhood  grad 
ually  molded  him  into  a  man  worthy  to  be  her  com 
panion. 

Two  stalwart  sons,  of  sixteen  and  twenty,  had 
blessed  their  union,  but  the  sunlight  of  the  Crad 
dock  household  was  their  daughter  of  twenty-three, 
recently  returned  from  Vassar,  and  who  had  not 


THE    CONVERSION  OF  CRADDOCK  2 1 3 

sacrificed  even  one  sweet  womanly  quality  on  the 
altar  of  higher  education.  Priscilla  Craddock  had 
her  mother's  charm  of  manner  and  refinement  of 
feature.  She  loved  to  help  her  mother  in  the  house 
work — for  the  Craddocks  kept  few  servants — and 
was  not  the  less  expert  with  broom  or  bread  pan  be 
cause  she  could  read  the  Iliad  in  Greek,  and  was 
versed  in  the  mysteries  of  Euclid. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

CRAIG    FALLS    IN    LOVE     WITH    CRADDQCK'S  DAUGH 
TER,    PRISCILLA. 

IT  was  to  this  homelike  home  that  Herbert 
Prynne  introduced  Andrew  Craig  the  evening  fol 
lowing  the  arrival  of  the  latter  at  Craddocksboro. 

Asa  Craddock  was  absent,  but  Mrs.  Craddock 
gave  Prynne  and  his  friend  her  usual  gracious  re 
ception.  Priscilla  had  met  Prynne  before,  and  her 
mother  now  introduced  her  to  Craig. 

Craig  never  in  his  youth  looked  handsomer  than 
he  did  in  his  erect,  virile,  independent  middle  age. 
He  was  the  ideal  of  a  man  who  had  wrung  fortune 
from  fate,  who  had  passed  through  danger  and  ad 
venture.  He  had  the  quiet  speech  of  him  who  has 
really  known  what  peril  is,  and  it  was  with  a  mod 
esty  all  the  more  captivating  because  it  was  so  gen 
uine  that  he  answered  the  queries  of  the  fair  New 
England  maiden  about  his  career  in  Mexico. 

For  Priscilla  was  fair  indeed,  and  Craig  was  quick 
to  perceive  it.  Her  brown  hair  clustered  around  a 
face  as  charming  as  her  mother's  had  been  at  her 
age.  Her  features  were  of  the  clear  and  regular 
Puritan  type,  her  hazel  eyes  beamed  maidenly  grace 
214 


CRAIG     FALLS     IN     LOVE 

and  intelligence,  and  her  voice  was  as  musical  as 
that  of  any  Mexican  senorita — to  Craig's  ears  far 
more  musical.  His  reserve  broke  down  before  her 
unconscious  assault,  and  he  found  himself  relating 
his  share  in  deeds  of  daring  achievement,  wfiich, 
apart  from  her  spell,  he  would  have  shrunk  from 
mentioning.  And  she,  for  her  part,  plied  him  with 
questions  when  he  flagged,  and  seemed  enthralled 
in  his  story. 

Mrs.  Craddock  was  busy  talking  over  with 
Prynne  some  proposed  improvement  in  the  village, 
and  Priscilla  and  Andrew  were  left  to  themselves. 
Neither  of  them  seemed  to  regret  it,  and  when  An 
drew  Craig  withdrew  it  was  with  an  earnest  invi 
tation  from  Priscilla  to  call  again  and  tell  her  the 
result  of  some  encounter  with  brigands  which  he 
was  relating  when  Prynne  reminded  him  of  the  late 
ness  of  the  hour. 

Craig  had  intended  to  stay  but  a  day  or  two  in 
Craddocksboro,  but  he  remained  two  weeks.  In  the 
daytime  he  went  about  with  Prynne,  or  with  Wal 
lace  Clarke,  now  a  foreman  in  the  mine,  and  his 
evenings  were  frequently  spent  at  the  mansion  of 
Asa  Craddock.  He  was  welcome  there,  for  besides 
finding  that  he  was  a  man  of  good  family,  and  of 
excellent  personal  habits,  Mrs.  Craddock  had  been 
informed  by  Prynne  of  Craig's  pecuniary  indepen 
dence.  Priscilla  was,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  the 
magnet  that  drew  Craig  to  the  Craddock  home. 
Her  interest  in  him  and  his  history  seemed  to  grow 
with  every  visit.  Interest  budded  into  sympathy, 
and  sympathy  is  the  chrysalis  of  love.  Craig's  feel- 


2l6  ADAM     CLARKE 

ing  of  devotion  to  Priscilla  was  not  the  less  deep 
because  he  had  loved  before,  because  the  memory 
of  Martha  was  still  precious  in  his  heart,  and  be 
cause  he  knew  that  the  difference  in  their  years 
might  well  have  been  that  of  father  and  daughter. 
Nor  was  her  attachment  any  less  sincere  because 
it  was  the  first  love  of  a  pure  young  woman  for  a 
man  of  mature  age,  for  one  who  would  be  a  pro 
tector  as  well  as  a  lover,  whose  manhood  had  been 
tried  and  not  found  wanting  in  the  ordeal  of  an  ex 
perience  that  would  have  crushed  a  nature  less  virile 
and  resolute.  Craig  might  have  said  with  Othello : 

"She  lov'd  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd, 
And  I  lov'd  her  that  she  did  pity  them." 

But  Priscilla's  love  was  more  than  that  of  Desde- 
mona,  and  Craig's  more  than  that  of  the  Moor. 
Each  found  in  the  other  qualities  which  deserved 
and  commanded  that  mutual  confidence  and  reliance 
which  is  the  foundation  of  serious  and  lasting  love — 
that  love  which  is  neither  an  ephemeral  rapture  nor 
a  jealous  craze. 

Craig  was  far  from  being  an  ignorant  man,  even 
from  the  standpoint  of  college  learning,  for  his 
spare  time  had  always  been  given  to  the  reading  of 
such  useful  books  and  magazines  as  were  within 
reach,  while  he  found,  as  others  may  find,  that  news 
papers  also  contain  for  him  who  looks  for  it,  a  rich 
fund  of  past  and  present  knowledge  on  almost  all 
subjects  which  go  to  the  making  of  a  so-called  lib 
eral  education.  He  made  it  a  point  to  obtain  all  the 
information  he  could  about  anything  within  his 
range  of  observation  and  experience,  and  this  made 


CRAIG    FALLS     IN     LOVE  21  / 

him  able  to  talk  intelligently  and  clearly.  If  he  was 
a  little  lame  on  the  Romans,  he  could  tell  all  about 
the  Aztecs,  and  if  he  could  not  describe  the  ruins  of 
the  Colosseum,  he  was  able  to  picture  in  vivid  word- 
painting  the  ruined  cities  of  Mexico.  And  Priscilla, 
being  a  thorough  American  girl,  found  these  Amer 
ican  topics  interesting.  Besides,  she  loved  him. 

Priscilla,  on  her  part,  did  not  air  her  classics  in 
company.  She  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  wear 
ing  to  the  reception-room  and  in  her  walks  around 
the  garden  the  diamonds  her  father  had  given  her 
on  her  birthday.  She  valued  what  she  had  learned 
for  its  refining  and  educating  influence  on  herself 
and  not  as  a  means  of  exhibiting  her  superiority  to 
others. 

But  Priscilla  had  something  in  her  of  the  tease. 
The  woman  who  has  not  is  lacking  in  a  valuable 
feminine  attribute.  It  prevents  a  sweet  disposition 
from  being  too  sweet,  and  gives  a  piquant  flavor  to 
otherwise  monotonous  incidents.  Priscilla  felt, 
when  Craig  had  called  on  her  about  a  dozen  times, 
that  something  was  coming ;  that  he  was  mustering 
courage  for  a  proposal,  and  that  she  should  be  ready 
with  a  reply.  Her  mother  liked  Craig,  and  she  be 
lieved  that  her  father  would  also,  if  he  were  at 
home,  but  it  was  for  her  to  ascertain  whether  her 
lover  had  any  weakness  of  temper  that  would  be  a 
bar  to  happiness,  should  she  accept  him  as  com 
panion  for  life.  She  had  not  teased  him  so  far,  but 
she  determined  now  to  see  how  he  would  stand  it. 

When  Craig  made  his  next  call  he  found  Priscilla 
busy  with  a  book.  She  did  not  raise  her  eyes,  and 


21 8  ADAM     CLARKE 

seemed  absorbed  in  study,  simply  nodding  recog 
nition  as  he  took  a  chair. 

Craig  was  nervous — a  good  deal  more  nervous 
than  when  he  faced  Mexican  brigands.  Priscilla 
knew  it  without  looking  up. 

"Priscilla,"  he  said,  "I— I  would  like  to  talk  to 
you" 

"Menin  aeide  thea,"  read  Priscilla,  as  if  she  did 
not  hear  him. 

"Priscilla,  please  listen,"  he  pleaded. 

"Peleiadeo  Achilleos" continued  Priscilla, 

still  reading  from  Homer's  Iliad  in  the  original 
Greek. 

"Priscilla,  can't  you  stop  and  listen,"  continued 
Craig  more  earnestly.  "Can't  you  read  that  when 
I'm  gone!" 

"I'm  surprised,  Mr.  Craig,"  spoke  Priscilla  at 
last,  lifting  her  eyes  with  an  injured  air.  "This  is 
my  Greek  lesson.  You  know  I  must  not  forget  my 
Greek.  I  have  sixty  lines  of  Homer  to  recite.  Oh, 
how  charming  it  is  to  read  about  those  old  heroes — 
Achilles,  Hector,  and  the  rest !"  she  added,  with  an 
assumption  of  rapture  that  made  her  look  more  fas 
cinating  than  ever. 

"Oulomenen  e  muri"  she  went  on,  when  Craig 
again  broke  in. 

"Oh,  Priscilla,  please  let  me  speak  just  for  once. 
They've  been  dead  a  long  time,  and  you'll  have  no 
trouble  finding  'em  where  you  left  'em ;  but  I'm 
alive,  Priscilla." 

"I  see  you  are,"  said  Priscilla,  demurely;  "but 
perhaps  you  would  prefer  I.  should  read  Vergil — 


CRAIG     FALLS     IN     LOVE  219 

here  he  is — that  lovely  Aeneid — all  about  Aeneas 
and  Dido" 

"Arma  virumque  cano" she  went  on,  pick 
ing  up  Vergil. 

Craig  was  almost  in  despair.  He  felt  like  going 
and  never  returning.  As  he  rose  he  gave  one  Par 
thian  glance  at  the  woman  he  adored.  It  struck  the 
mark.  There  was  a  laughing  twinkle  in  her  eye 
that  revealed  the  truth. 

"Priscilla!"  he  cried,  stepping  forward  with  ex 
tended  arms.  Homer  and  Vergil  fell  to  the  floor 
as  Priscilla's  face  was  hidden  on  Andrew's  breast. 

The  Vassar  girl  was  a  woman. 

Two  days  later  Andrew  Craig  started  for  New 
York,  with  a  view  to  investing  a  part  of  the  money 
he  had  made  in  Mexico.  He  was  a  happier  man 
than  when  he  arrived  in  Craddocksboro,  for  he  had 
received  the  promise  of  Priscilla  Craddock  to  be 
come  his  wife,  provided  her  father  and  mother 
should  consent ;  and  the  mother  had  consented. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

CHARLEY     MURPHY    BECOMES     A     MEMBER    OF    THE 
CLARKE     FAMILY. 

ADAM  CLARKE  came  out  of  the  hospital  in  due 
time,  crippled  by  the  loss  of  a  leg,  but  otherwise 
sound.  Charley  Murphy  had  been  more  than  a  son 
to  Mrs.  Clarke  during  the  absence  of  her  injured 
boy.  He  sold  papers  with  more  energy  and  success 
than  ever,  and  brought  every  cent  to  Adam's  mother 
and,  with  the  money  sent  to  her  by  the  district 
leader  and  others  with  whom  charity  was  not  mere 
ly  a  cover  for  hypocrisy  and  ''graft/'  Mrs.  Clarke 
was  able  to  receive  her  son  into  a  comfortable  home. 

The  day  after  Adam  returned  Mrs.  Clarke  noticed 
that  Charley  looked  worried  and  pale,  and  that 
something  like  a  tear  trickled  down  his  cheek. 
When  he  saw  she  was  observing  him  he  hastily 
wiped  the  tear  away  and  tried  to  smile. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Charley?"  she  asked,  anx 
iously. 

"Ye  know  Adam's  back  now,  ma'am,  and  it 
wouldn't  be  right  for  me  to  stay  any  longer,  ma'am. 
He  needs  the  bed,  an'  I'll  go  back  to  the  Newsboys' 

220 


BECOMES     A     MEMBER     OF     THE     FAMILY       221 

Lodgin'  House.  I'll  bring  yer  the  rnun  just  the 
same,  'cept  wot  I  pays  for  grub,  an'  Adam  an'  I'll 
sell  papes  togedder  just  as  we  uster.  You're  his 
mudder,  an'  you  must  take  care  of  him  first,  so  I'll 
not  bodder  you  stayin'  here.  I'm  only  a  kid  widout 
fadder  or  mudder,  an'  I  ain't  got  no  rite  to  have 

ennywun  bodderin'  about  me" and  Charley 

choked  down  a  little  gasp,  and  tried  to  smile  again. 

"What,  leave  us,  my  boy!"  cried  Mrs.  Clarke. 
"  Never,  while  I  can  keep  a  home  for  you !  You've 
got  a  mother,  Charley — I'm  your  mother — and 
Adam  and  little  Robert  are  your  brothers,  and 
Emily's  your  sister.  I'll  get  another  bed  for  you, 
and  we'll  all  try  to  be  happy  together.  You've  been 
too  good  to  Adam  and  all  of  us  for  us  ever  to  let 
you  go  out  in  the  world  alone." 

Charley  shook  his  head  at  first.  He  was  afraid 
he  would  be  too  much  "bodder,"  but  when  Adam 
pleaded  too  he  yielded,  and  his  face  became  sun 
shine  again. 

Charley's  story  was  a  simple  one.  It  had  its  trag 
edy,  too,  but  the  result  of  that  tragedy  is  an  oft- 
repeated  experience  among  the  poor  of  New  York. 
His  father  was  an  Irish  immigrant,  employed  in  the 
street  cleaning  department.  The  scow  on  which  he 
accompanied  a  load  of  refuse  out  beyond  the  Lower 
Bay  parted  from  its  tugboat  in  a  storm,  and  was 
lost,  with  those  on  board.  Charley's  mother  worked 
herself  to  death  trying  to  support  herself  and  child, 
and  he,  a  babe  of  three  years,  was  found  crying 
with  hunger  and  fear  by  the  cold  body  of  his  parent. 


ADAM     CLARKE 

He  was  sent  to  a  Roman  Catholic  institution,  his 
father  and  mother  having  belonged  to  that  creed, 
and  was  well  taken  care  of.  Being  anxious  to  go 
out  in  the  world  and  make  a  living  for  himself,  he 
ran  away  from  the  institution  at  twelve  years  of 
age,  and  became  a  newsboy.  His  bright  eyes  and 
pleasant  smile  and  manner  won  him  success  from 
the  start,  and  while  he  learned  the  slang  of  the 
street,  he  never  forgot  the  lessons  of  honesty  taught 
him  by  the  good  sisters.  Being  large  for  his  age 
he  was  not  troubled  by  truant  officers,  and  as  he  had 
never  known  what  home  was,  he  never  felt  that  he 
was  unfortunate  in  not  having  a  home. 

Mrs.  Clarke's  humble  quarters  were  a  new  world 
to  him.  Her  motherly  care  awakened  emotions  that 
had  been  dormant  in  his  nature,  and  the  thought  of 
leaving  her  and  going  back  to  his  lonely  bed  in  the 
Lodging  House  and  his  meals  at  a  lunch-stand, 
seemed  like  banishment  from  a  heaven  on  earth. 
But  Charley  had  grit,  and  when  he  believed  it  was 
time  to  go  he  got  ready  to  go,  even  though  it 
should  break  his  heart.  Equally  great  was  his  de 
light  when  convinced  that  he  was  welcome  to  re 
main. 

The  little  household  struggled  along,  and  years 
passed  without  any  serious  incident  breaking  the 
monotony  of  existence.  Adam  and  Charley  became 
partners  in  a  newstand,  and  began  to  have  an  ac 
count  in  the  savings'  bank,  and  Robert  grew  to  be  a 
tall,  sinewy  youth,  able  to  help  in  the  maintenance 
of  the  home.  Robert  got  employment  in  the  freight 


BECOMES     A     MEMBER     OF     THE     FAMILY       223 

depot  of  the  Bronx  River  Railway,  and  as  his 
strength  and  stature  made  him  look  much  older  than 
he  really  was,  he  earned  the  wages  of  a  grown-up 
man.  With  income  sufficient  for  comfort,  and  with 
a  surplus  for  needs  that  might  arise  in  the  future, 
the  Clarke  family  did  not  complain  of  their  lot. 
They  had  no  expensive  tastes,  and  their  recreations 
were  in  accordance  with  their  means. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE    PULLMAN    STRIKE. 

MEANTIME  distinction  of  class  in  New  York,  as 
in  other  great  communities,  East  and  West,  were 
becoming  more  acute.  Men  whose  recent  ancestors 
had  followed  the  honorable  occupations  of  farm 
laborers,  truck  drivers,  waiters,  etc.,  but  who  had 
themselves  grown  rich  by  more  or  less  questionable, 
and  often  criminal  means,  sought  to  make  them 
selves  out  a  separate  and  superior  part  of  the  Amer 
ican  people;  their  carriages  stamped  with  armorial 
bearings,  to  which  they  had  no  title ;  their  daughters 
sold  to  impoverished  and  degenerate  foreigners,  who 
did  have  titles,  and  their  dwellings  rich  in  objects 
of  art,  the  meaning  of  which  they  could  not  under 
stand.  They  made  their  servants  wear  uniforms 
like  the  retainers  of  English  nobility,  and  they  aped 
in  dress  and  manners,  and  even  in  speech,  the  style 
of  European  countries. 

National  and  State  administrations  were  domi 
nated  by  the  monopolies  known  as  trusts,  which 
controlled  every  branch  of  industry  and  manipulated 
prices  at  will,  protected  from  competition  at  home 
by  conspiracies  maintained  in  defiance  of  law,  and 
from  competition  abroad  by  a  tariff  which  exacted 
224  . 


THE     PULLMAN     STRIKE  22$ 

a  heavy  charge  on  imported  goods,  while  permitting 
the  free  admission  of  imported  labor,  thus  enabling 
the  manufacturer  to  place  his  own  price  on  the 
product  of  his  factories,  and  at  the  same  time  dic 
tate  labor's  share  of  the  profit  by  having  at  hand  an 
unlimited  labor  supply.  Higher  prices  were  charged 
in  America  for  American  goods  than  were  charged 
in  Europe  for  the  same  American  goods,  with  the 
cost  of  exportation  added.  Thus  vast  fortunes  were 
accumulated  at  the  expense  of  the  ordinary  people, 
and  the  holders  of  these  fortunes,  surrounded  by 
rings  of  sycophants,  anxious  to  glean  some  share 
of  the  golden  harvest,  imagined  themselves  to  be 
different  from  the  run  of  mankind. 

The  Mordecai  that  sat  at  the  king's  gate  as  the 
Haman  of  monopoly  passed  along  was  labor  union 
ism,  and  to  crush  and  humiliate  labor  unions  every 
effort  of  wealth  and  its  obedient  tools  was  applied. 

In  the  early  summer  of  1894  occurred  the  great 
Pullman  strike,  made  memorable  more  by  the  events 
of  national  consequence  which  attended  it  than  by 
the  interests  at  stake  in  the  original  struggle.  The 
town  of  Pullman,  established  by  George  M.  Pull 
man,  the  sleeping-car  magnate,  was  one  of  those 
places  which  are  always  offensive  to  the  indepen 
dent  spirit  of  the  American  worker,  where  paternal 
ism  is  a  substitute  for  wages,  and  the  workingman 
not  only  works,  but  eats,  drinks  and  sleeps  accord 
ing  to  rules  laid  down  by  his  employer.  The  Amer 
ican  workingman  rightfully  believes  that  his  em 
ployer  has  no  claim  on  him  outside  of  working 
hours ;  that  he  has  a  right  to  live  where  he  pleases, 


226  ADAM     CLARKE 

and  spend  his  money  and  time  as  he  pleases,  for 
himself  and  his  family,  when  his  duty  to  the  man 
who  pays  him  for  his  labor  is  fulfilled.  The  pa 
ternal  experiment,  sometimes  well  meant,  more 
often  prompted  by  arrogance  and  avarice,  has  al 
ways  proved  a  failure  in  the  free  air  of  America, 
and  Pullman,  perhaps  the  most  pretentious  example 
of  industrial  feudalism,  was  the  most  conspicuous 
failure  of  all. 

Wages  had  been  reduced  at  the  Pullman  Works 
to  a  point  at  which  the  men  were  unable  to  support 
their  families  decently,  even  with  the  closest 
economy.  When  they  organized  as  members  of  the 
American  Railway  Union,  and  sent  a  committee  to 
make  respectful  request  for  better  compensation, 
three  members  of  the  committee  were  "laid  off"  as 
a  punishment  for  daring  to  address  the  company  on 
such  a  subject.  A  strike  followed,  and  the  Amer 
ican  Railway  Union  refused  to  handle  Pullman  cars. 

For  the  first  time  in  American  history  the  Na 
tional  authority  was  used  to  sustain  capital  in  a  con 
flict  with  labor,  President  Cleveland  claiming  that 
he  was  justified  in  taking  the  course  he  did  by  the 
Constitution  and  the  laws  of  Congress.  The  powers 
and  duties  of  the  President  of  the  United  States 
are  fully  set  forth  in  the  Federal  Constitution,  which 
also  provides  that  "the  United  States  shall  guaran 
tee  to  every  State  in  this  Union  a  republican  form 
of  government,  and  shall  protect  each  of  them 
against  invasion,  and  on  application  of  the  Legisla 
ture,  or  of  the  Executive  (when  the  Legislature 
cannot  be  convened)  against  domestic  violence." 


THE     PULLMAN     STRIKE  ;  22? 

It  is  also  provided  in.  the  Constitution  that  the  Pres 
ident  "shall  take  care  that  the  laws  be  faithfully  ex 
ecuted."  The  use  by  order  of  President  Cleveland 
of  United  States  troops,  in  the  summer  of  1894,  to 
suppress  the  anti-railway  riots  in  Chicago  evoked 
a  strong  protest  from  the  Governor  of  Illinois,  who 
addressed  the  President  as  follows : 

"I  submit  that  local  self-government  is  a  funda 
mental  principle  of  our  Constitution.  Each  com 
munity  shall  govern  itself  so  long  as  it  can  and  is 
ready  and  able  to  enforce  the  law,  and  it  is  in  har 
mony  with  this  fundamental  principle  that  the 
statute  authorizing  the  President  to  send  troops  into 
States  must  be  construed.  Especially  is  this  so  in 
matters  relating  to  the  exercise  of  police  power  and 
the  preservation  of  law  and  order. 

"The  question  of  Federal  supremacy  is  in  no  way 
involved.  No  one  disputes  it  for  a  moment,  but 
under  our  Constitution  Federal  supremacy  and  local 
self-government  must  go  hand  in  hand,  and  to  ig 
nore  the  latter  is  to  do  violence  to  the  Constitution." 

President  Cleveland  briefly  replied : 

"Federal  troops  were  sent  to  Chicago  in  strict  ac 
cordance  with  the  Constitution  and  laws  of  the 
United  States,  upon  the  demand  of  the  Post  Office 
Department  that  obstruction  of  the  mails  should  be 
removed,  and  upon  the  representations  of  the  ju 
dicial  officers  of  the  United  States  that  process  of 
the  Federal  courts  could  not  be  executed  through 
the  ordinary  means,  and  upon  abundant  proof  that 
conspiracies  existed  against  commerce  between  the 
States.  To  meet  these  conditions,  which  are  clearly 


228  ADAM     CLARKE 

within  the  province  of  Federal  authority,  the  pres 
ence  of  Federal  troops  in  the  city  of  Chicago  was 
deemed  not  only  proper  but  necessary,  and  there 
has  been  no  intention  of  thereby  interfering  with 
the  plain  duty  of  the  local  authorities  to  preserve 
the  peace  of  the  city." 

As  a  similar  crisis  may  arise  at  any  time,  it  may 
be  of  interest  to  quote  the  law  under  which  the 
President  acted.  His  authority  is  derived  from  Sec 
tions  5298  and  5299,  of  the  Revised  Statutes  of  the 
United  States.  The  latter  section  became  a  law  April 
20,  1871.  The  former  provides  that  "whenever,  by 
reason  of  unlawful  obstructions,  combinations,  or 
assemblages  of  persons,  or  rebellion  against  the  au 
thority  of  the  Government  of  the  United  States,  it 
shall  become  impracticable,  in  the  judgment  of  the 
President,  to  enforce,  by  the  ordinary  course  of 
judicial  proceedings,  the  laws  of  the  United  States 
within  any  State  or  Territory,  it  shall  be  lawful  for 
the  President  to  call  forth  the  militia  of  any  or  all 
the  States,  and  to  employ  such  parts  of  the  land  and 
naval  forces  of  the  United  States  as  he  may  deem 
necessary  to  enforce  the  faithful  execution  of  the 
laws  of  the  United  States,  or  to  suppress  such  rebel 
lion,  in  whatever  State  or  Territory  thereof  the  laws 
of  the  United  States  may  be  forcibly  opposed,  or 
the  execution  thereof  forcibly  obstructed."  Section 
5299  is  as  follows : 

"Whenever  insurrection,  domestic  violence,  un 
lawful  combinations,  or  conspiracies  in  any  State 
so  obstructs  or  hinders  the  execution  of  the  laws 
thereof,  and  of  the  United  States,  as  to  deprive  any 


THE     PULLMAN     STRIKE  22Q 

portion  or  class  of  the  people  of  such  State  of  any 
of  the  rights,  privileges,  or  immunities,  or  protec 
tion,  named  in  the  Constitution  and  secured  by  the 
laws  for  the  protection  of  such  rights,  privileges,  or 
immunities,  and  the  constituted  authorities  of  such 
State  are  unable  to  protect,  or,  from  any  cause,  fail 
in  or  refuse  protection  of  the  people  in  such  rights, 
such  facts  shall  be  deemed  a  denial  by  such  State 
of  the  equal  protection  of  the  laws  to  which  they  are 
entitled  under  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States ; 
and  in  all  such  cases,  or  whenever  any  such  insur 
rection,  violence,  unlawful  combination,  or  con 
spiracy,  opposes  or  obstructs  the  laws  of  the  United 
States,  or  the  due  execution  thereof,  or  impedes  or 
obstructs  the  due  course  of  justice  under  the  same, 
it  shall  be  lawful  for  the  President,  and  it  shall  be 
his  duty,  to  take  such  measures,  by  the  employment 
of  the  militia  or  the  land  and  naval  forces  of  the 
United  States,  or  of  either,  or  by  other  means,  as  he 
may  deem  necessary,  for 'the  suppression  of  such  in 
surrection,  domestic  violence,  or  combinations/'* 
Even  assuming  that  President  Cleveland's  action 

*  It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  the  law  of  April  20,  1871, 
under  which  President  Cleveland  acted  in  sending  Federal  troops 
to  Illinois,  was  passed  by  a  Republican  Congress  to  enable  a 
Republican  President  to  crush  opposition  to  negro  rule  in  the 
South,  and  after  being  in  disuse  for  many  years  after  recon 
struction,  was  revived  by  a  Democratic  President  to  subdue 
white  labor  agitation  in  the  North.  Any  clear  mind  can  per 
ceive  that  it  places  in  the  hands  of  a  President  bold  enough  to 
use  it  a  weapon  of  omnipotence.  There  is  practically  no  limit 
to  the  power  of  the  chief  magistrate  acting  under  authority  of 
this  statute. 


230  ADAM     CLARKE 

was  justified  by  the  Federal  Constitution  and  laws, 
it  is  noteworthy  that  when  the  conditions  were  re 
versed,  when  ten  years  later,  American  citizens, 
members  of  a  labor  union,  were  deprived  of  "the 
rights,  privileges  and  immunities  named  in  the  Con 
stitution,"  and  the  State  authorities  of  Colorado  re 
fused  to  protect  those  citizens  in  their  rights,  the 
National  authority  failed  to  interfere  and  remained 
indifferent,  while  American  workingmen,  guiltless, 
and  not  even  accused  of  crime,  were  deported  from 
Colorado  as  if  they  were  alien  criminals. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  the  toiler,  with  such  disheart 
ening  evidence  of  disregard  by  constituted  authority 
of  the  rights  of  the  workingman,  while  the  same  au 
thority  is  vigilant  and  aggressive  when  capital  is 
assailed,  occasionally  forgets  that  he  is  bound  to 
obey  the  laws  which  his  employers  are  free  to 
ignore. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE    MUSTACHE    DECREE. 

THE  height  of  impudence  and  arrogance  seemed 
to  be  reached  when  at  a  meeting  of  railway 
magnates  in  New  York  City  it  was  resolved  to  es 
tablish  and  enforce  a  rule  that  all  employes  below 
the  grade  of  assistant  managers  should  have  their 
faces  at  all  times  clean-shaven ;  that  is,  that  they 
should  wear  neither  beard  nor  mustache,  and  thus 
be  readily  distinguished  from  their  superiors,  who 
could  wear  mustaches  and  beards  as  they  pleased. 

This  rule  had  long  been  maintained  in  the  case 
of  domestic  servants,  lackeys  and  footmen,  imported 
from  abroad,  and  attired  in  some  degrading  form 
of  livery  in  imitation  of  the  menials  of  foreign 
aristocracy.  These  were  regarded  with  a  mixture 
of  pity  and  amusement  by  the  genuine  American, 
as  they  sat  perched  behind  dog-carts,  or  with  low 
salaams  received  the  visitors  at  some  vulgar  social 
function,  in  which  the  lack  of  noblesse  oblige  and 
good  breeding  was  masked  by  a  lavish  display  of 
luxury.  Their  "beef-eater"  legs  were  the  admira 
tion  of  the  women  present  on  such  occasions,  con 
trasting,  as  they  generally  did,  with  the  lean  and 
shrunken  shanks  of  the  average  denizen  of  Fifth 

231 


232  ADAM     CLARKE 

Avenue,  who  had  sacrificed  muscle  as  well  as  health 
in  the  acquisition  of  his  hoard.  This  contrast  caused 
no  small  amount  of  mortification  to  the  lean-legged 
millionaires,  but  while  they  could  make  their  lack 
eys  dispense  with  mustaches  they  could  not 
make  them  shave  off  their  calves,  and  they  had  to 
bear  the  ordeal  with  assumed  indifference,  or  else 
resort,  as  many  did,  to  tailor  or  costumer  for  a  sup 
ply  of  personal  padding. 

The  mustache  decree — which  led  to  the  mustache 
riot — was  the  outcome  of  a  disagreeable  experience 
on  the  part  of  an  individual  who  held  in  his  hands 
the  reins  of  powerful  combinations,  controlling  rail 
ways,  gas  and  oil,  and  also  the  water  supply  of  sev 
eral  cities  and  towns.  This  person,  who  had 
achieved,  by  dint  of  craft  and  wire-pulling,  one  of 
the  highest  offices  in  the  gift  of  the  people,  wore  a 
handsome  mustache  on  a  well-rounded,  epicurean 
face,  and  prided  himself  on  what  he  regarded  as  an 
imposing  presence. 

It  happened  that  a  lobbyist,  who  had  never  been 
in  the  imposing  presence  before,  visited  the  person 
age  in  question  to  solicit  a  favor.  A  clerk  who  an 
swered  the  description  of  the  august  politician  and 
railway  lawyer,  happened  to  be  in  the  ante-room, 
having  come  on  a  message  from  another  ofHce.  The 
lobbyist  mistook  him  for  the  man  he  had  come  to 
see,  and  saluted  him  effusively,  making  him  the  de 
positary  of  several  weighty  secrets  intended  only  for 
the  inner  circle  of  monopoly,  and  the  knowledge  of 
which  by  anyone  outside  of  that  circle  might  prove 
embarrassing. 


THE     MUSTACHE    DECREE  233 

The  corporation  statesman  was  deeply  hurt  on 
learning  the  character  of  the  blunder.  Thinking 
the  subject  over,  he.  determined  that  no  clerk  or 
other  railway  employe  should  be  mistaken  for  him 
in  the  future,  and  he  suggested  to  the  railways  in 
which  he  was  interested  the  adoption  of  a  rule  re 
quiring  every  employe  below  the  rank  of  assistant 
superintendent  to  have  a  clean-shaven  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE     DUCHESS     OF     OLDTOWER     AND     COUNTESS     OF 
RUINV1LLE. 

'RAILWAY  workers  were  indignant  when  they; 
heard  of  the  mandate,  and  most  of  them  resolved 
to  defy  it.  On  the  following  Monday,  when  the  men 
were  to  appear  shaven,  nearly  all  of  them  had  at 
least  their  usual  display  of  beard  and  mustache, 
while  some  who  had  been  clean-shaven  by  choice 
in  the  past,  now  showed  several  days'  growth  of  hair 
on  their  faces.  It  was  a  question  whether  trains 
would  run  and  the  work  of  construction  and  repair 
go  on,  or  the  railways  withdraw  from  their  foolish 
and  unwarranted  invasion  of  personal  rights.  The 
railway  authorities,  after  consultation,  determined 
to  make  an  example  of  a  few  as  a  warning  to  the 
others,  and  to  discharge  those  who  were  growing 
beards  after  having  been  clean-shaven  before.  This 
was  done.  No  sooner  did  the  news  spread  than 
every  railway  employe  on  the  trains  and  in  the  shops 
and  yards  went  on  strike.  They  sent  deputations 
to  the  offices  of  the  leading  roads  demanding  the 
withdrawal  of  the  mustache  order,  and  the  rein 
statement  of  all  men  discharged  for  refusing  to 
obey  the  order. 

234 


THE     DUCHESS     OF     OLDTOWER  235 

The  chief  owners  of  two  of  the  railways  lived 
abroad,  one  being  the  Duchess  of  Oldtower,  and 
the  other  the  Countess  of  Ruinville,  both  American 
born.  These  women  derived  an  income  of  several 
millions  yearly  from  their  American  properties, 
which  they  expended  in  maintaining  a  splendor  that 
dazzled  and  amazed,  and  also  disgusted  the  thrifty 
Briton  and  Frenchman.  While  the  railway  of 
which  she  was  part  owner  was  neglected  as  to  paint 
and  other  provisions  for  safety,  and  the  poor  work- 
ingman  and  workingwoman  had  their  knees  jammed 
and  were  pushed  and  crowded  because  cars  were 
not  provided  with  sliding  doors,  the  Countess  of 
Ruinville  was  building  a  magnificent  mansion  in 
Paris  with  wealth  earned  by  American  labor,  and 
derived  in  a  large  degree  from  franchises  which 
ought  to  have  belonged  to  the  American  people. 

"It  is  said  to  have  cost  three  millions  of  dollars," 
said  a  dispatch  from  Paris,  "and  it  will  be  opened 
with  a  fete  that  will  cost  at  least  $100,000  more. 
The  complete  company  of  the  Comedie  Parisienne 
has  been  engaged  for  the  occasion,  and  there  will 
be  a  ballet,  the  like  of  which  has  not  been  seen  in 
Paris,  even  at  the  Opera.  This  is  to  be  merely  the 
first  of  the  fetes  to  inaugurate  the  Parisian  palace, 
built  by  American  millions."  The  new  palace,  it 
was  further  stated,  was  planned  in  imitation  of  the 
Grand  Trianon  —  that  architectural  chef  d'ceuvrq 
of  the  rotten  and  declining  Bourbon  monarchy,  em 
blematical  of  all  that  is  hideous  and  obnoxious  to 
a  free  and  virtuous  people.  All  this  the  miserably- 
paid  employes  of  the  Countess's  railway  had  read 


236  ADAM     CLARKE 

before  coming  to  work  that  morning,  and  combined 
with  the  scheme  to  degrade  them  to  the  level  of  the 
serfs  of  Europe's  decayed  nobility,  it  aroused  and 
maddened  them. 

The  employes  of  another  railway  read  in  the  news 
of  the  same  date  how  the  American  Duchess  of 
Oldtower,  after  the  expenditure  of  millions  in  re 
pairing  a  dilapidated  English  property,  had  fixed 
upon  a  new  way  of  spending  the  earnings  of  her 
countrymen  in  reviving  falconry,  the  favorite  pas 
time  of  the  royal  debauchee,  King  Charles  the  Sec 
ond.  Between  the  Grand  Trianon  and  King 
Charles's  falcons  it  seemed,  indeed,  that  the  absentee 
beneficiaries  of  wealth  extracted  from  the  sweat 
and  toil  and  skill  of  Americans  were  not  ready  to 
halt  at  any  extravagance,  however  alien  to  Amer 
ican  principles  and  hostile  to  American  traditions, 
in  their  ambition  to  merge  themselves  in  the  un 
savory  noblesse  of  the  Old  World. 

The  Duchess  of  Oldtower  and  Countess  of  Ruin- 
ville  were  both  consulted  by  cable  as  to  the  situa 
tion,  and  the  course  to  be  pursued.  The  reply  in 
both  instances  was  that  the  rule  requiring  the  faces 
of  workingmen  to  be  clean-shaven  should  be  insisted 
upon.  The  message  from  the  Duchess  of  Old- 
tower  read:  "Just  shown  dispatch  to  the  Earl  of 
Barsinistre  and  Duke  of  Mudlothian ;  both  strongly 
approve  shaving  rule  for  working  class." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    USUAL    STRIKE-BREAKING    PLOT. 

THUS  fortified  in  their  attitude,  the  managers  de 
termined  to  crush  the  strike.  Two  hundred  detec 
tives  from  a  private  agency  were  hired  to  guard  the 
trains  and  stations,  and  were  secretly  instructed  to 
spare  no  effort  to  goad  the  strikers  into  a  demon 
stration  of  violence.  Five  detectives  from  the  same 
agency  were  appointed  to  organize  a  fictitious  con 
spiracy,  with  bombs  and  dynamite,  and  to  prepare 
to  blow  up  the  chief  passenger  station  and  a  train 
or  two.  Strikers  were,  if  possible,  to  be  made  in 
toxicated  and  drawn  into  the  plot,  and  the  conversa 
tions  with  the  drunkards  were  to  be  duly  recorded 
and  witnessed. 

At  an  appropriate  time,  when  all  would  be  ripe 
for  action,  the  plot  was  to  be  discovered  by  those 
who  had  planned  it,  and  to  be  made  known  with  a 
great  flourish  to  the  newspapers,  and  public  opinion 
thus  turned  against  the  strikers,  on  the  ground  that 
they  were  dynamiters  and  anarchists,  and  capable 
of  any  outrage. 

The  scheme  had  been  operated  before  with  some 
success,  and  it  might  have  succeeded  on  this  oc- 
237 


238  ADAM     CLARKE 

casion  but  for  a  mistake  on  the  part  of  the  detec 
tives. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  which  witnessed  the 
beginning  of  the  strike,  Robert  Clarke  was  ap 
proached  by  a  stranger,  who  asked  him  if  he  was  a 
striker. 

Clarke  answered  that  he  was. 

"I'm  in  thorough  sympathy  with  the  strike,"  re 
marked  the  stranger  warmly.  "It's  an  outrage  to 
force  the  workingmen  to  shave.  These  railways 
should  be  taught  a  lesson." 

Clarke  nodded. 

"Come  in  and  have  a  drink,"  added  the  stranger. 
"I'm  in  no  hurry  to  go  home." 

Clarke  assented,  and  went  with  his  new  acquain 
tance  into  a  saloon.  The  stranger  chose  a  table  in 
a  remote  corner.  Two  other  strangers  happened  to 
enter  and  take  seats  nearby. 

"What  will  you  have?"  asked  Clarke's  com 
panion,  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer  the  lat 
ter  called  for  whisky.  When  the  bottle  came  he 
poured  out  a  full  glass  for  Clarke,  and  a  very  small 
allowance  for  himself.  All  the  time  his  tongue  was 
running  on  about  the  strike,  and  about  employers 
being  brought  to  terms  on  a  similar  occasion,  in  the 
West,  by  dynamite. 

Clarke  became  suspicious.  He  did  not  take  the 
whisky,  but  he  pretended  to  be  pleased,  and  agreed 
with  the  stranger  that  dynamite  was  the  right  thing. 
The  two  strangers  at  the  adjoining  table  joined  in 
the  conversation,  and  earnestly  indorsed  the  dyna 
mite  plan. 


THE     USUAL     STRIKE-BREAKING    PLOT          239 

Clarke  and  his  new  acquaintances  parted  with  the 
understanding  that  they  should  meet  in  the  same 
place  on  the  following  evening. 

The  strangers — who  were  detectives — hurried  to 
report  progress  to  their  employers,  and  Clarke  went 
to  call  on  one  of  the  oldest  strikers — James  Bristed 
— with  whom  he  was  on  intimate  terms,  and  who 
had  the  reputation  of  being  well-informed  and 
sagacious.  Clarke  told  him  about  the  strangers  and 
the  dynamite. 

Bristed  smiled  grimly.  He  had  heard  of  similar 
plots  before,  and  rather  expected  something  of  the 
kind.  Indeed,  he  had  from  the  first  regarded  it  as 
the  chief  menace  to  the  success  of  the  strike,  and 
was  glad  to  see  an  opportunity  of  baffling  the 
schemers. 

"Hoist  them  with  their  own  petard,"  said  Bristed ; 
"it's  the  only  way  to  do.  Get  out  warrants  in  the 
morning,  or  during  court  hours,  for  all  three  of 
them,  calling  them  "John  Doe,"  and  whatever  other 
names  they  gave  you.  Don't  tell  the  magistrate 
you're  a  striker ;  or  he  might  not  be  inclined  to  grant 
the  warrant.  He'll  naturally  think  you're  acting  for 
the  company.  Have  the  officer  with  the  warrants 
come  in  plain  clothes  to  the  saloon.  Some  of  us  will 
be  handy  when  he  makes  the  arrests,  to  help,  if 
necessary,  and  to  carry  the  story  to  the  newspaper 
offices." 

The  plan  worked  well.  The  detectives  were 
stricken  dumb  when  put  under  arrest,  and  the  ar 
resting  officer  was  almost  equally  surprised  when 
they  exclaimed  that  they  were  the  company's  men. 


24O  ADAM     CLARKE 

Several  strikers  had  managed  to  overhear  the  con 
versation  which  preceded  the  arrest,  and  which  fully 
sustained  Clarke's  allegations.  They  did  not  wait 
for  the  court  proceedings  on  the  following  day,  but 
at  once  hastened  to  the  newspapers  with  the  report 
of  the  plot  and  counter-plot.  Next  morning  the 
news  columns  of  the  independent  press  gave  in 
tremendous  headlines  the  story  of  the  discomfiture 
of  the  detectives,  and  although  the  latter  were  dis 
charged  by  the  magistrate,  their  usefulness  as  plant 
ers  of  dynamite  bombs  was  ended. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

AN     EXCUSE    TO    SLAY. 

ONE  resort  yet  remained  for  discrediting  the 
strikers.  They  must  be  provoked  to  violence.  In 
view  of  the  boomerang  effect  of  the  dynamite  plot, 
however,  it  was  obviously  requisite  that  the  provo 
cation  should  be  within  the  law.  Long  the  man 
agers  and  their  advisers  sat  in  council  on  this 
problem. 

"Hire  Chinamen!"  exclaimed  Deboe,  chief  hench 
man  to  the  Duchess  of  Oldtower,  and  virtual  head 
of  the  railroad. 

"Chinamen  could  not  operate  the  road,"  replied 
a  director. 

"We  don't  want  them  for  that  purpose,"  rejoined 
Deboe,  significantly. 

The  plan  was  agreed  upon  without  further  dis 
cussion,  and  one  hundred  Chinamen  were  quietly 
gathered  into  vans  on  promises  of  five  dollars  a  day 
each  and  board  for  doing  nothing.  The  railway 
managers  felt  sure  that  they  would  be  needed  only 
for  one  day. 

Railway  men  are,  as  a  rule,  intelligent,  and  when 
the  four  vans  emptied  out  the  Chinese  one  block 

241 


242  ADAM     CLARKE 

from  the  railway  depot,  the  strikers  present  did  not 
raise  a  hand.  They  did  not  even  hoot.  They  knew 
that  the  Orientals  would  be  of  no  practical  use  to 
the  railway,  and  they  suspected  the  purpose  which 
inspired  the  move  on  the  part  of  their  late  em 
ployers. 

Not  so  with  the  rabble,  however,  which  commonly 
gathers  upon  any  occasion  of  public  excitement. 
Some  boys  threw  stones  at  the  Chinamen  and 
shouted  terms  of  derision.  One  youth  seized  an 
Oriental  by  the  queue.  Others  pushed  and  hustled 
the  frightened  aliens. 

The  Chinamen  started  to  run.  The  Macfarlancl 
detectives  held  them  back.  The  Asiatics  had  been 
brought  there  to  excite  a  riot,  and  were  to  be  used 
to  the  utmost  in  that  direction. 

The  hooting  and  hustling  continued,  while  strik 
ers  stood  apart  from  the  disturbance. 

"Fire!"  exclaimed  the  chief  detective. 

Rapidly  three  volleys,  from  a  dozen  Winchesters, 
were  discharged,  not  among  the  disturbers,  but  di 
rectly  into  the  crowd  of  quiet  and  lawabiding  strik 
ers. 

Seven  of  the  latter  fell — three  dead,  and  the  others 
wounded. 

The  Macfarlands  rested,  and,  as  a  cry  of  rage 
and  horror  went  up  from  the  comrades  of  the  mur 
dered  workingmen,  they  prepared  to  renew  the 
shooting. 

Before  the  Macfarlands  had  time  to  level  their 
rifles  the  strikers  were  upon  them,  unarmed,  save 
with  a  fury  that  no  arms  could  resist. 


AN     EXCUSE    TO     SLAY  243 

The  hired  murderers  were  borne  back,  over 
whelmed,  crushed  by  the  terrible  onset. 

The  chief  detective  had  his  brains  beaten  out  with 
the  stock  of  his  own  rifle.  Nine  others  lay  in  the 
streets  with  broken  limbs  or  strangled  throats.  Two 
succeeded  in  escaping  unhurt. 

Even  in  their  rage  the  strikers  did  not  touch  the 
helpless  and  cowering  Chinese. 

The  affair  lasted  not  more  than  fifteen  minutes. 

A  squad  of  police  arrived  on  the  double-quick. 

There  had  been  no  sign  of  disorder  half  an  hour 
before,  and  the  railway  managers,  meaning  to  have 
a  free  field  for  their  mercenaries,  had  assured  the 
police  that  there  was  no  need  of  an  extraordinary 
display  of  authority.  Hence  the  absence  of  police 
men  during  the  riot. 

As  the  police  arrived  the  strikers  fell  back.  Many 
of  them  hurried  out  of  sight,  but  the  majority  re 
mained,  and  submitted  quietly  to  arrest. 

It  happened  that  a  reporter  for  a  newspaper  in 
dependent  enough  to  tell  the  truth  was  on  the  scene 
when  the  not  began.  He  had  seen  the  Chinamen 
loaded  into  the  vans,  and  followed  them.  He  saw 
that  the  Macfarland  mercenaries  fired  at  the  strik 
ers,  although  the  latter  had  taken  no  part  in  an 
noying  the  Chinese,  and  he  hastened  to  telephone 
the  facts  to  his  paper. 

An  hour  later — before  the  railways  managers 
could  circulate  false  reports  through  the  organs  of 
monopoly — the  truth  was  known  to  all  New  York, 
and  was  sent  broadcast  by  special  dispatches 
throughout  the  land. 


244  ADAM     CLARKE 

The  general  verdict  was  that  the  Macfarlands  had 
got  no  worse  than  they  deserved,  and  that  the  strik 
ers,  in  avenging  tfieir  fallen  comrades,  had  acted  in 
self-defense. 

Public  opinion  was  so  strongly  against  the  rail 
way  that  the  latter  decided  to  withdraw  the  mus 
tache  order  altogether,  and  wait  for  a  more  favor 
able  opportunity  for  branding  workingmen  as  serfs. 

The  mustache  riot  passed  into  the  history  of  labor. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE    ANTI-MURDER    STRIKE. 

SOON  after  the  mustache  riot  the  extraordinary 
spectacle  was  witnessed  in  the  city  of  Brooklyn  of 
hundreds  of  men  on  strike  against  being  compelled 
to  commit  murder.  This  is  a  true  description  of 
the  so-called  Brooklyn  trolley  strike.  It  seems 
wonderful — to  Europeans  it  may  seem  incredible — 
that  in  one  of  the  chief  cities  of  the  United  States,  a 
community  noted  for  its  churches  and  the  thrifty 
and  generally  lawabiding  character  of  its  people, 
the  law  should  be  violated  day  after  day,  and  hun 
dreds  of  lives  destroyed  in  the  most  cruel  manner 
by  corporations  holding  public  franchises,  and  no 
criminal  prosecution  supervene,  not  one  of  the  really 
responsible  criminals  be  called  upon  to  pay  the 
penalty  of  his  guilt.  Yet  this  is  a  true  statement  of 
hideous  facts.  Through  streets  thronged  with 
thoughtless,  innocent  children,  the  motormen  of 
Brooklyn  were  ordered  to  run  at  a  speed  which  not 
only  violated  law,  but  which  also  meant  death  for 
scores  of  human  beings — a  death  the  very  thought 
245 


246  ADAM     CLARKE 

of  which  causes  a  shudder — a  death  as  horrible  and 
barbarous  as  that  to  which  Roman  tyrants  doomed 
their  victims  thrown  to  the  wild  beasts  in  public 
shows.  The  cars  went  coursing  through  the  streets 
at  unlawful,  murderous  speed.  If  a  motorman 
failed  to  keep  up  the  speed  he  was  discharged,  and 
some  one  less  squeamish  put  in  his  place.  Com 
plaisant  officials  were  conveniently  blind  to  the  re 
peated  tragedies  and  the  criminality  responsible 
for  those  tragedies,  and  when  at  length  the  em 
ployes  of  the  electric  lines  went  on  strike  against 
being  required  to  be  agents  in  deliberate  murder  for 
dividends,  the  militia  was  called  out  to  intimidate 
and  coerce  them. 

The  anti-murder  strike  failed  as  a  strike,  but  it 
taught  the  electric  lines  a  lesson  not  easily  forgot 
ten,  and  it  awoke  somnolent  official  consciences  to 
a  realization  of  the  fact  that  large  subscriptions  to 
church-building  and  Pharisaic  pretensions  of  inter 
est  in  the  spiritual  welfare  of  Hottentots  could  not 
atone  before  God  or  man  for  negligent  complicity 
in  the  slaughter  of  the  innocents.  Hundreds  of 
little  mounds  in  Brooklyn  cemeteries  hold  the  re 
mains  of  victims  offered  to  the  Moloch  of  monopoly. 
The  ancient  idolaters  had  the  palliation  of  ignor 
ance  when  they  placed  little  children  in  the  arms  of 
their  sanguinary  idol  to  satiate  his  appetite  for 
blood.  The  corporations  and  their  wretched  tools 
in  public  office,  who  murdered  hundreds  of  Brook 
lyn  children  as  a  sacrifice  to  Wall  Street,  and  to 
raise  the  price  of  stocks,  had  not  the  excuse  of  ig- 


THE     ANTI-MURDER     STRIKE  247 

norance.  They  knew  and  understood  the  infamy 
and  cruelty  of  their  acts,  and  their  guilt  is,  there 
fore,  immeasurably  more  heinous  than  that  of  the 
benighted  idolaters  for  whose  conversion  to  Chris 
tianity  some  of  these  whited  sepulchres  ostentatious 
ly  contribute. 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

COWARDS     FIRE     ON     WOMEN. 

THE  struggle  between  a  heartless  few,  deter 
mined  to  wring  every  possible  advantage  out  of  the 
necessities  of  the  many,  and  the  many  seeking  sim 
ply  to  earn  reasonable  wages  for  honest  work,  went 
on  with  varying  outcome.  Strikes  sometimes  failed 
of  the  object  which  prompted  them,  but  their  de 
feat  was  often  a  Pyrrhic  victory  for  capital.  The 
stubbornness  of  labor  in  asserting  its  claims  was 
more  and  more  resented  by  unprincipled  employ 
ers,  while  others,  of  the  humane  and  considerate 
type,  were  willing  to  meet  labor  on  a  level  of  equity 
and  justice  between  man  and  man.  The  latter,  sus 
tained  by  public  sentiment,  were  in  a  fair  way  to 
bring  about  lasting  peace  between  employer  and 
employed  in  certain  important  lines  of  industry, 
when  an  outbreak,  as  tragical  as  it  was  without  ex 
cuse  on  the  part  of  those  who  provoked  it,  aroused 
popular  passion  to  a  high  pitch,  and  but  for  the  cool 
counsel  and  determined  attitude  of  one  man,  might 
readily  have  flamed  into  anarchy  rivalling  that  of 
the  draft  riots. 

A  large  New  York  factory,  employing  about 
twelve  hundred  women  and  girls,  made  a  sweeping 

248 


COWARDS     FIRE    ON     WOMEN  249 

reduction  in  wages.  A  deputation  of  women  em 
ployes  visited  the  superintendent  and  represented  to 
him  that  they  would  be  unable  to  live  from  their 
earnings  at  the  reduced  rate.  He  replied,  almost 
with  a  sneer,  "that  there  were  other  ways  of  mak 
ing  a  living  if  the  wages  were  not  sufficient."  The 
women  and  girls  at  once  withdrew  from  work,  and 
assembled  in  front  of  the  establishment,  intending 
to  proceed  to  a  hall  and  talk  over  their  grievances 
and  the  gross  insult  contained  in  the  superinten 
dent's  reply. 

Angry  at  their  refusal  to  yield  to  his  brutal  sneers 
with  the  meekness  he  expected,  and  hoping  to  force 
them  into  submission,  the  superintendent  appealed 
to  the  police  to  drive  them  from  the  street.  The 
police  refused  to  act,  giving  as  a  reason  that  the 
crowd  was  not  disorderly. 

This  enraged  the  superintendent  more  than  ever, 
and,  determined  to  carry  his  point,  he  telephoned  to 
Colonel  Plurnton,  commander  of  the  Eightieth  New 
York,  that  a  riot  was  in  progress  with  which  the 
police  were  unable  to  deal.  Colonel  Plumton  did 
not  wait  for  superior  orders.  His  command  was 
in  the  armory  at  drill,  and  he  at  once  double-quicked 
them  to  the  scene  of  the  alleged  disturbance.  The 
arrival  of  the  militia  was  greeted  with  cries  of  ter 
ror  by  the  women,  who  could  not  understand  what 
the  demonstration  meant. 

Colonel  Plumton  was  at  the  head  of  his  forces 
and  looked  fierce  enough  to  have  led  the  advance 
on  Santiago-^if  Santiago  had  been  garrisoned  by 
women  and  children. 


250  ADAM     CLARKE 

"You  hear  those  cries  of  defiance,  my  brave  men !" 
he  shouted.  "Stern  measures  are  necessary — ready 
— aim — fire !" 

The  rifles  blazed  forth.     Women  and  girls  lay 

wnthing  on  the  street,  some  of  them  in  the  agony 

A$i  death.    The  others,  comprehending  too  late  what 

\r     their  assailants  meant,  fled  in  every  direction  from 

the  assassins  '^  jjptWm 

•^ssa^jBlliPSBiTrtwr  wore  a  look  of  triumph  as  he 
gazed  at  the  fleeing  forms  and  listened  to  the  shrieks 
of  mortal  pain. 

At  last  he  was  on  a  field  of  action — at  last  he  had 
tasted  blood. 

"Well  done,  my  brave  men,"  he  cried.  "The 
Eightieth  has  acquitted  itself  nobly.  The  rioters 
are  dispersed.  We  will  now  march  back  to  the 
armory." 

A  cry  of  horror  was  echoed  from  block  to  block. 
Men  began  to  gather — men — some  with  ragged 
coats,  it  is  true,  but  stalwart  arms — real  men.  They 
looked  threatening.  Some  of  them  hurled  missiles 
at  the  militia.  Colonel  Plumton  turned  pale.  A 
glance  to  right  and  a  glance  to  left  showed  him 
that  the  mob  was  growing  formidable.  He  ordered 
a  double-quick.  The  mob  pressed  harder.  Plum- 
ton  began  running.  His  men  ran  too,  but  Plumton 
reached  the  armory  in  advance  of  them.  All  got 
inside  safely,  and  the  great  gates  clanged  against 
the  pursuers. 

Slowly  the  mob  dispersed,  for  they  could  make 
no  impression  on  the  armory,  and  the  militia  threat 
ened  to  fire  from  the  embrasures.  • 


COWARDS     FIRE    ON     WOMEN  251 

That  afternoon  a  call  went  forth  for  a  gathering 
of  workingmen  in  Battery  Park  to  demand  justice 
on  the  murderers  of  women  and  children.  Thou 
sands  attended,  many  with  arms,  and  violent  coun 
sels  were  urged. 

Andrew  Craig  read  all  this  in  an  evening  news 
paper  as  his  train  neared  New  York  and  while  he 
was  crossing  the  ferry.  He  resolved  on  his  course, 
and  acted  promptly. 

Hastening  to  Battery  Park  his  manner  and  ap 
pearance,  and  the  word  that  he  was  the  Andrew 
Craig  who  led  labor  in  the  Pittsburgh  conflict  many 
years  before,  quickly  secured  him  a  hearing. 

"Workingmen,"  he  urged,  "you  are  not  law 
breakers  or  assassins.  What  you  want  is  justice  for 
those  who  are  lawbreakers  and  assassins.  The  Con 
stitution  guarantees  to  you  who  have  arms  the  right 
to  bear  them,  but  do  not  use  them  unlawfully.  Go 
home  for  the  night,  and  come  together  here  in  the 
morning,  and  march  to  the  City  Hall,  where,  after 
demanding  the  punishment  of  the  guilty,  we  will 
disperse,  and  give  the  authorities  an  opportunity  to 
carry  out  the  law  without  fear  or  favor." 

Craig's  counsel  prevailed,  and  the  assembled 
workingmen  went  to  their  homes,  resolved  to  make 
a  demonstration  on  the  morrow  that  would  prove 
alike  their  respect  for  law  and  their  determination 
that  the  law  should  be  impartially  enforced. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

CAPITALISTS    HOLD    A    MEETING. 

MEANTIME  another  call  went  the  rounds  for  a 
special  meeting  at  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  to 
which  capitalists,  lawyers  and  others  not  members 
were  invited,  to  be  held  on  the  following  forenoon, 
to  consider  such  measures  as  might  be  necessary  in 
view  of  the  gravity  of  the  situation,  and  the  popular 
unrest,  and  to  invoke  the  authorities  to  preserve  the 
peace. 

It  was  a  grave  crisis,  and  the  ablest  leaders  and 
tools  of  the  trusts  were  gathered  at  the  appointed 
hour  to  meet  it  if  they  could.  Prominent  among 
the  tools  was  Charles  Anderson,  editor  of  the  Daily 
Ray.  Anderson  was  at  heart  a  coward,  and  while 
he  tried  to  seem  cool,  his  ashen  skin  and  the  scared 
look  in  his  beady  eyes  betrayed  the  fear  that  was 
consuming  his  soul.  Anderson  started  in  life  full 
of  generous  ambition  to  help  his  fellowmen,  and  to 
give  a  noble  example  of  altruism.  He  was  attracted 
to  newspaper  work,  for  which  he  had  natural  abili 
ties,  and  he  gradually  earned  distinction  in  that  field. 
He  did  some  service  during  the  civil  conflict  as  a 
high-class  spy,  and  was  much  aggrieved  when  a 
distinguished  commander,  who  had  tolerated  his 
252 


CAPITALISTS     HOLD     A     MEETING  253 

nauseous  intrusion  in  war,  simply  out  of  a  sense  of 
military  duty,  failed  to  recognize  him  as  a  friend 
and  protege  in  peace.  Anderson's  malignant  and 
satanic  nature  could  not  forgive  this  neglect  to  re 
ward  a  man  for  being  a  nuisance,  and  he  devoted 
his  paper  to  the  most  unstinted  abuse  of  the  great 
general  and  everyone  associated  with  him.  As  the 
sale  of  his  sheet  was  dwindling  under  the  onus  of 
unpopularity,  he  sought  some  means  of  restoring 
its  circulation,  and  finally  surrendered  its  columns 
to  unbridled  and  offensive  sensation.  This  deprived 
him  of  the  friends  whom  his  earlier  reputation  as  a 
man  of  ability  and  culture  had  brought  to  him,  but 
it  attracted  a  wide  circle  of  readers  belonging  to  the 
tainted  class  which  revels  in  unwholesome  news. 
He  championed  every  public  scoundrel  who  was 
able  to  pay  for  the  favoring,  and  let  no  private  crim 
inal  escape  who  was  rich  enough  to  be  blackmailed. 
From  being  in  his  youthful  days  an  embodiment 
of  enthusiasm  in  the  cause  of  human  brotherhood 
and  social  reform  he  became  in  his  old  age  the  in 
carnation  of  selfishness,  the  mercenary  hireling  of 
anyone  able  to  purchase  his  polluted  support,  and 
the  unscrupulous  foe  of  everything  to  which  his 
masters — the  trusts — were  opposed.  His  sulphuric 
pen  was  aimed  as  his  patrons  directed  against  every 
movement  tending  to  liberate  the  toiler  from  indus 
trial  bondage,  and  he  felt  that  in  the  hour  of  just 
retribution  he  would  not  be  forgotten.  At  present, 
he  was  concerned  more  for  his  own  personal  safety 
than  for  the  trembling  capitalists  whom  he  saw 
around  him,  and  on  whom  he  could  no  longer  lean 


254  ADAM     CLARKE 

with  any  sense  of  security,  and  he  had  given  orders 
to  his  editorial  writers  to  tone  down  their  utterances 
in  defence  of  the  trusts,  and  even  to  speak  favorably 
of  the  popular  cause. 

Present  also  were  several  officers  of  the  militia, 
distinguished  for  their  devotion  to  home  and  fire 
side  in  time  of  war  and  their  truculent  readiness  to 
shoot  down  unarmed  workingmen  in  time  of  peace. 
Prominent  among  these  was  Colonel  Plumton,  in  a 
brand  new  uniform,  looking  more  serious  than  on 
former  occasions,  when  his  only  antagonists  were 
half -starved  strikers  and  women  and  children.  The 
capitalists  clustered  around  this  redoubtable  warrior 
as  if  he  were  another  Grant  or  Lee.  They  had  often 
heard  his  brave  answers  to  military  toasts  at  fox 
hunting  dinners  and  commercial  gatherings,  and 
they  knew  the  gallantry  with  which  his  regiment 
had  charged  on  two  men  on  their  way  home  from 
a  saloon  one  night,  while  guarding  a  horse  car  barn, 
shooting  down  one,  and  putting  the  other  to  flight. 
Colonel  Plumton  would  surely  lead  the  attack  upon 
the  mob  now  camped  in  the  Battery  Park,  and  pre 
paring  to  march  up  Broadway. 

"Gentlemen,"  declared  Colonel  Plumton  pomp 
ously,  but  with  a  quiver  in  his  tones  that  was  not 
altogether  reassuring,  "I  am  prepared  to  do  my  full 
duty,  and  to  die,  if  need  be,  at  the  head  of  my  regi 
ment.  (Applause.)  In  this  crisis  I  have  resolved 
to  give  my  attention  at  once  to  the  best  plan  for  de 
fense  against  the  mob  that  is  menacing  us  (applause, 
and  cries  of  'Bravo,  Colonel  Plumton  F)  and  I  will 
leave  for  Albany  within  an  hour  to  consult  with  the 


CAPITALISTS     HOLD     A     MEETING  2$  5 

Governor  as  to  what  shall  be  done."  (Abject  si 
lence.) 

"I  will  accompany  Colonel  Plumton,  gentlemen," 
said  Editor  Anderson,  "for  I  feel  that  it  is  necessary 
to  bring  all  the  pressure  we  can  upon  the  Governor 
to  induce  him  to  join  with  us  in  resolute  and  un 
flinching  determination  to  enforce  law  and  order." 

"Might  it  not  be  best,  Colonel,  to  put  off  the  trip 
to  Albany  until  to-morrow,  and  lead  your  regiment 
against  the  mob  to-day?"  ventured  one  of  the  larg 
est  owners  of  trust  stock,  with  a  mansion  worth  mil 
lions  on  Fifth  Avenue., 

"My  regiment  is  at  the  armory,"  replied  Colonel 
Plumton,  "prepared  to  defend  that  place  to  the  last 
drop  of  its  blood.  If  the  mob  dares  to  attack  the 
armory  it  will  find  my  gallant  men  ready  for  the 
struggle." 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

SHERIFF  MACANOTCHIE'S  NEW  DEPARTURE  IN   SE 
CURING  A  POSSE. 

THERE  was  a  commotion  at  the  door.  "The 
sheriff,  gentlemen,  the  sheriff!"  exclaimed  a  banker 
who  had  met  that  official  before.  All  eyes  were 
directed  toward  the  visitor,  and  amid  the  buzz  and 
shuffling  which  attended  the  sheriff's  arrival,  Col 
onel  Plumton  and  Editor  Anderson  slipped  out. 

The  sheriff,  Macanotchie,  was  a  man  of  the  peo 
ple,  and  suspected — to  put  it  mildly — of  sympathy 
with  their  cause.  There  was  a  natural  anxiety, 
therefore,  to  know  why  he  had  come,  and  this  feel 
ing  was  not  unmingled  with  gratification  over  the 
proof  that  he  was  bestirring  himself.  Sheriff  Maca 
notchie  was  known  to  be  absolutely  fearless,  never 
shrinking  from  any  task  which  duty  required  him 
to  undertake,  and  dreaded  by  the  sturdiest  law 
breakers. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  sheriff,  "I  mean  to  keep 
the  peace  (hearty  applause),  and  to  protect  prop 
erty  (heartier  applause),  with  all  the  power  at  my 
command  (loud  murmurs  of  approval).  I  mean  to 
256 


SHERIFF  MACANOTCHIE'S  NEW  DEPARTURE     257 

raise  a  force  of  brave,  stout-hearted  civilians  to  aid 
my  deputies,  who,  as  you  know,  are  few  in  number, 
and  incapable  of  coping  with  a  powerful  mob, 
armed,  as  I  understand  some  of  the  men  in  Battery 
Park  are  armed,  and  veterans,  many  of  them,  of  the 
war  with  Spain.  The  law  permits  me  to  summon 
civilians  to  my  aid,  and  swear  them  in  as  my  depu 
ties.  Hearing  that  there  was  a  gathering  here  of 
the  leading  capitalists  of  New  York,  men  who  have 
the  largest  interests  at  stake,  and  who  are  no  doubt 
willing  to  incur  risk  and  danger  in  defence  of  their 
interests,  I  concluded  that  this  would  be  the  best 
place  to  begin  swearing  in  my  'posse  comitatus.' 
Gentlemen,  I  have  here  my  chief  clerk,  who  is  a 
notary  public,  and  five  of  my  deputies  are  at  the 
door.  I  call  upon  everyone  here  present  to  assist 
me  in  preserving  the  peace.  The  swearing  in  of 
special  deputies  will  begin." 

It  would  have  been  amusing — if  the  affair  were 
not  so  serious — to  watch  the  change  which  came 
over  the  crowd  in  the  room  as  the  sheriff  proceeded 
with  his  address.  First  came  silence ;  then  could  be 
heard  breathing  quick  and  hard,  half-suppressed  ex 
clamations  and  groans  of  protest,  while  nearly  every 
face  turned  pale.  Not  a  word  was  spoken. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  all  so  ready,  gentleman, 
to  do  your  duty  as  citizens,"  continued  the  sheriff, 
with  a  suspicion  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice.  "It's  a 
very  dangerous  undertaking — very  dangerous,  in 
deed — and  I  fear  some  lives  will  be  lost  before  we 
get  through,  but  you  will  at  least  have  the  consola 
tion,  if  it  should  be  the  misfortune  of  any  of  you 


258  ADAM     CLARKE 

to  be  fatally  injured,  to  know  that  the  family  of 
the  sufferer  will  not  be  left  penniless,  as  in  the  case 
of  a  poor  man  losing  his  life  in  the  same  circum 
stances. 

"I  must  add,  gentlemen,"  added  the  sheriff  with 
sternness  in  his  tone,  "that  I  will  have  to  preserve 
a  rigid  discipline.  When  all  of  you  shall  have  been 
sworn  in,  you  will  proceed,  under  guard  of  my 
armed  deputies,  to*  the  sheriff's  office,  where  a  load 
of  arms  has  arrived  for  your  use.  The  next  hour 
you  will  spend  in  drill  instruction,  and  after 
luncheon,  which  will  be  brought  into  the  sheriff's 
office,  we  will  march  down  Broadway  to  the  Bat 
tery,  and  compel  the  mob  there  congregated  to  dis 
perse.  We  can  expect  no  assistance  from  the  police, 
who  are  held  in  reserve  to  prevent  outbreaks  in  dif 
ferent  parts  of  the  city." 

"But — Mister-r-r  Sheriff-iff,"  exclaimed  a  shiv 
ering  voice  in  the  rear  of  the  room  "these  fell-ows- 
ows  '11  mur-der-er  us." 

The  sheriff  could  hardly  restrain  a  smile.  "I  hope 
not,"  he  replied  briefly.  "You  must  do  your  duty 
anyhow.  I'll  give  you  instructions  when  to  shoot." 

"Oh,  Johnny,  T  wish  I  hadn't  come,"  groaned  one 
to  another  in  a  teeth-chattering  whisper. 

"Mr.  Sheriff,  I'm  over  sixty.  Can  I  be  required 
to  serve?"  asked  a  vigorous-looking  banker,  with 
gray  hair. 

"There's  no  age  limit  for  a  sheriff's  posse,"  re 
plied  that  officer.  "Everyone  whom  I  deem  to  be 
in  good  condition  will  be  obliged  to  come." 

"I  wonder  if  Lawyer  Shoat  couldn't  get  us  out 


SHERIFF  MACANOTCHIE'S  NEW  DEPARTURE      259 

of  this  on  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus,"  remarked  the 
chief  of  a  large  financial  institution  to  a  magnate  of 
the  Stock  Exchange. 

The  latter  shook  his  head.  "The  hearing  would 
probably  be  put  down  for  to-morrow,"  he  replied, 
dejectedly,  "and  we  may  all  be  dead  this  afternoon. 
It  looks  like  a  scheme  to  get  us  all  slaughtered. 
But  what  can  we  do?  It  was  stupid  to  hold  this 
meeting." 

"Who  ever  heard  of  a  sheriff  calling  on  capital 
ists  to  face  a  mob  of  strikers !"  said  another  with  as 
much  wrath  as  he  thought  might  escape  the  sheriff's 
notice.  "He  should  have  made  up  his  posse  from 
laborers  and  clerks,  and  that  sort  of  people  who 
wouldn't  be  missed.  I  was  going  to  run  down  to 
Maine  this  evening,  and  stay  until  this  affair  was 
over,"  and  he  almost  broke  down. 

"And  I  would  have  started  for  Newport,"  re 
marked  the  person  addressed. 

A  bright  idea  struck  a  rich  man  from  Riverside 
Drive. 

"Sheriff,"  he  said,  "my  coachman  served  in  the 
British  army,  and  is  a  first-class  soldier.  Couldn't 
you  allow  him  to  go  in  my  place?" 

Hope  gleaned  in  a  number  of  eyes  at  this  sugges 
tion,  but  the  light  went  out  quickly  when  the  sheriff 
announced :  "No  substitutes  will  be  taken," 

The  swearing-in  showed  two  hundred  and  thirty 
present.  Of  these  twelve  were  allowed  to  go  on 
proof  that  they  were  cripples  or  otherwise  unfitted 
to  do  duty  as  deputies.  The  remainder  were 
escorted  to  the  sheriff's  office.  There  each  man  re- 


260  ADAM     CLARKE 

ceived  a  breech-loading  rifle  and  fifty  rounds  of 
ammunition,  and  Deputy  Sheriff  Carson,  a  war  vet 
eran,  gave  instruction  in  marching,  loading  and 
firing.  Coffee  and  sandwiches  were  served  for 
luncheon,  and  those  who  smoked  and  did  not  have 
cigars  were  supplied  with  them. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

THE     ENCOUNTER     AND     FLIGHT. 

SHERIFF  MACANOTCHIE  arrayed  his  force  in  two 
divisions.  He  headed  the  first  division  himself. 
In  its  ranks  were  the  capitalists  whom  he  had  im 
pressed  into  the  service.  "I  will  give  you  the  place 
of  honor,"  he  said,  "as  becomes  men  of  your  stand 
ing,  and  of  your  large  financial  interests,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  you  will  behave  like  true  supporters  of  law 
and  order  in  the  present  trying  circumstances.  Any 
man  showing  cowardice  or  endeavoring  to  shirk 
under  fire  will  be  promptly  shot  down.  Don't  be 
provoked  into  shooting  too  soon.  Wait  till  you  see 
the  whites " 

"What's  the  matter  with  that  man,  Fetterson?" 
exclaimed  the  sheriff  sharply  to  one  of  his  aides,  as 
he  pointed  to  a  noted  banker  of  vigorous  years,  who 
was  shaking  like  a  sapling  in  an  April  blast. 

"He  says  he's  chilly,  sir,"  answered  Fetterson. 

"And  that  one  behind  him?"  added  the  sheriff, 
still  more  sharply,  as  another  well-dressed  individual 
showed  signs  of  collapse. 

"He  complains  of  sunstroke,  sir,"  rejoined  Fetter- 
son. 

261 


262  ADAM    CLARKE 

It  was  like  Rudyard  Kipling's  "Hanging  of 
Danny  Deever." 

"'What  makes  the  front  rank  breathe  so  hard?'  said  Files- 

on-Parade. 

It's  bitter  cold,  it's  bitter  cold,'  the  color- sergeant  said. 
'What  makes  the  rear-rank  man  fall  down  ?'  said  Files-on- 

Parade. 
'A  touch  o'  sun,  a  touch  o'  sun/  the  color-sergeant  said." 

"The  mob  is  coming — they  are  marching  up 
Broadway,"  cried  an  excited  messenger  to  the 
sheriff. 

"Then  we  will  wait  and  receive  them  here,"  an 
swered  that  officer. 

Every  window  was  alive  with  silent  faces  as  the 
so-called  mob  approached,  with  regular  step,  and 
some  of  them  with  gleaming  rifles.  Not  a  word, 
not  a  sound,  but  the  steady  tramp  of  marching  feet 
came  from  the  stalwart  array.  The  American  flag 
was  borne  in  front  of  the  line,  and  by  the  side  of 
the  color-bearer  stepped  a  well-knit,  brown-faced, 
blue-eyed  man  of  about  middle  age. 

This  leader  was  Andrew  Craig. 

"Steady,  men,  steady !"  cried  Sheriff  Macanotchie 
as  his  first  division  showed  signs'  of  commotion. 
"Don't  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  fire.  Wait  until 
you  see  the  whites  of  their  eyes.  What's  that! 
Who's  firing,  Fetterson?"  shouted  the  sheriff, 
angrily. 

"It's  Lawyer  Diddle,"  answered  Fetterson, 
naming  the  chief  of  a  leading  firm  of  corporation 


THE     ENCOUNTER     AND     FLIGHT  263 

lawyers.  "His  gun  fell  out  of  his  hand 'and  went  off 
accidentally,  sir." 

"I'm  wounded — I'm  wounded,"  shrieked  a  Wall 
Street  broker,  clapping  his  hand  to  the  rear  of  his 
trousers  and  rolling  in  agony  on  the  street — "I'm 
as  good  as  dead,"  cried  the  injured  man.  "Take 
me  home ;  oh,  this  is  murder,  nothing  but  murder ! 
I'm  dying !  I'm  gone !"  and  he  fainted  away. 

One  of  the  doctors  summoned  by  the  sheriff  to 
attend  the  wounded  ran  to  the  aid  of  the  sufferer. 
He  turned  him  over  and  examined  him. 

"Nothing  more  than  a  flesh  scratch,"  the  doctor 
exclaimed,  in  a  disgusted  tone.  "The  bullet  from 
that  other  man's  gun  seems  to  have  ploughed  the 
skin  and  drawn  a  little  blood.  The  man's  fit  for 
duty,"  added  the  doctor,  retiring. 

Deputy  Fetterson  hastened  forward  and  applied 
the  point  of  his  sword  to  the  denser  portion  of  the 
broker's  anatomy.  The  latter  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"How  dare  you?"  he  cried.  "I'll  be  square  for 
this  indignity!  I'll  sue  the  sheriff!  I'll,  I'll " 

A  blow  on  the  mouth  from  Fetterson's  fist  si 
lenced  the  raving  financier,  and  he  took  his  place 
again  in  the  ranks. 

"Prepare  to  fire!"  cried  the  sheriff.  "Those  in 
the  front  rank  will  drop  on  one  knee  to  allow  the 
second  rank  to  fire  over  their  heads." 

Craig  and  his  force  were  in  sight.  Nearer  and 
nearer  came  that  steady  tramp,  tramp,  of  marching 
men.  It  seemed  like  the  tick-tock  of  doom  to  the 
corralled  capitalists.  They  looked  at  each  other. 
The  same  thought  was  in  many  minds.  To  en- 


264  ADAM     CLARKE 

counter  that  approaching  phalanx  meant  destruc 
tion;  in  running  for  safety  there  was  a  chance  of 
life. 

Not  a  word  was  said.  Each  seemed  to  know  by 
intuition  what  the  other  was  thinking  about.  There 
was  a  rattle  of  guns  on  the  pavement,  a  rush  for 
the  side  streets,  and  before  Sheriff  Macanotchie 
and  his  aides  could  stop  them,  the  millionaires  were 
running  like  frightened  sheep  in  every  direction  but 
toward  the  so-called  mob.  The  sheriff  seemed  very 
excited  and  indignant,  but  those  near  him  said  after 
ward  that  there  was  a  suspicion  of  a  grin  on  his 
lips  as  he  dashed  about,  calling  on  the  flying  men 
to  halt  and  do  their  duty.  His  personal  aides  pur 
sued  the  fugitives  a  short  distance,  firing  in  the  air, 
and  thereby  adding  to  their  terror,  and  hastening 
their  flight. 

Craig  and  his  followers  lined  up  in  front  of  the 
City  Hall.  There  resolutions  were  read  by  Craig, 
calling  upon  the  authorities  of  the  city  and  county 
to  prosecute  those  responsible  for  the  killing  of 
women  and  children  on  the  previous  day,  and  to 
enforce  the  laws  without  fear  or  favor  against  all 
criminals,  whatsoever  their  station  in  life. 

The  resolutions  were  adopted  with  ringing  ac 
clamation,  not  only  from  those  in  line,  but  from  an 
immense  multitude  of  spectators. 

Then  the  workingmen  quietly  dispersed,  and  the 
demonstration  was  over.  Craig  attended  to  the 
business  which  had  brought  him  to  New  York,  and 
hurried  back  to  Priscilla,  deferring  until  a  future 
time  his  intended  visit  to  Mrs.  Robert  Clarke  and 
her  family. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

IN    THE    COEUR    D^ALENE. 

ALEXANDER  CLARKE  easily  found  work  in  the 
mining  regions,  first  of  Colorado  and  later  of  Wy 
oming  and  Idaho.  He  was  sober,  reliable  and  God 
fearing,  and  the  time  had  passed  when  such  a  man 
was  regarded  as  the  butt  of  bully  and  braggart  in 
Western  mining  camps.  Indeed,  the  pictures  of 
even  earlier  life  in  the  Far  West  are  in  this  respect 
most  unfairly  exaggerated.  There  never  was  a 
time  on  the  frontier  where  the  decent,  temperate, 
lawabiding  worker  could  not  get  along  peaceably. 
The  outlaws  preyed,  as  a  rule,  on  their  own  class, 
and  rarely  troubled  those  who  did  not  seek  trouble 
with  them.  Most  of  the  pioneers  of  farm  and  mine 
had  the  usual  wholesome  training  of  the  American 
or  British  home,  and  the  occasional  ruffian  and  des 
perado  was  a  freak  instead  of  a  type.  Yet  writers 
pandering  to  the  appetite  for  sensation  have  chosen 
to  make  him  a  type. 

Alexander  Clarke  worked  and  tried  to  save; 
but  labor  was  no  longer  so  scarce  as  in  the  early 
days,  and  wages  were  correspondingly  lower,  while 
provisions  were  dear,  not  having  gone  down  in 

265 


266  ADAM     CLARKE 

price  in  proportion  to  the  decline  in  wages — a  very 
common  condition  in  American  communities,  polit 
ical  economists  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 
Alexander,  therefore,  was  not  getting  rich,  although 
he  had  a  few  hundred  dollars  in  bank  at  Boise  City 
in  the  winter  of  1898-99. 

He  was  then  in  the  placer  gold  fields  of  the  Boise 
Basin,  but  hearing  of  better  wages  in  the  mines  of 
the  Coeur  d'Alene  region,  he  drew  part  of  his  money 
from  the  bank,  and  made  his  way  to  that  section  of 
Idaho.  He  had  long  been  a  member  of  the  miners' 
labor  organization,  and  found  prompt  employment 
at  Coeur  d'Alene.  In  the  mine  in  which  Clarke  was 
employed  nearly  all  were  native  Americans.  Clarke 
was  the  only  Englishman,  never  having  taken  out 
naturalization  papers,  and  there  was,  besides,  a 
Spanish-American  from  Costa  Rica,  who  had 
drifted  to  the  mining  region  from  San  Francisco, 
and  who  was  known  as  the  "Dago,"  otherwise  by 
his  real  name  of  Antonio,  abbreviated  to  "Tony." 
Antonio  was  of  the  better  class  in  his  native  land, 
but  had  to  leave  it  on  account  of  an  insurrection  in 
which  he  was  concerned,  and  had  not  thought  it 
safe  to  return.  He  had  recently  learned,  however, 
that  his  friends  were  again  in  power,  and  he  pro 
posed  to  go  back  as  soon  as  he  had  saved  money 
enough  to  pay  his  way  and  make  a  decent  appear 
ance  at  home.  Meantime,  he  adapted  himself  to 
American  ways,  and  had  been  admitted  to  the  min 
ers'  organization. 

At  the  time  of  Alexander's  arrival  in  the  Coeur 
d'Alene  there  were  rumblings  of  coming  trouble 


IN     THE     COEUR     D^ALENE  26/ 

between  certain  mine  owners  and  the  miners.  The 
former  were  impatient  of  the  restrictions  placed  by 
the  labor  unions  on  employment  in  the  mines,  and 
wanted  to  throw  them  open  to  any  labor  they  might 
choose  to  employ  at  any  wages  they  might  choose 
to  give.  To  this  the  miners'  union  presented  a  reso 
lute  opposition,  and  when  one  of  the  mine  owners, 
a  man  with  large  political  influence  at  Washington, 
attempted  to  introduce  non-union  workers  into  his 
mines,  the  union  men  at  once  went  on  strike. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

A    CORRAL    FOR    AMERICAN 

THE  usual  methods  of  casting  discredit  on  labor 
seeking  for  reasonable  compensation  followed. 
Mysterious  outrages  were  perpetrated,  or  stories  of 
outrage  concocted  and  heralded  by  telegraphic  news 
service  to  all  parts  of  the  land,  and  the  Governor  of 
the  State  was  induced  to  apply  to  the  President  of 
the  United  States  for  aid  in  putting  down  an  al 
leged  "insurrection."  The  mines  were  closed,  and 
many  hundreds  of  men  were  thrown  into  idleness. 

Alexander  Clarke  had  taken  no  part  in  any  dem 
onstrations,  although  loyal  to  his  obligations  as  a 
union  man,  and  refusing  to  work  except  on  union 
terms.  He  was,  like  the  large  majority  of  the  min 
ers,  lawabiding  and  orderly.  He  saw  the  arrival 
of  the  troops,  the  establishment  of  a  military  head 
quarters,  and  the  stationing  of  guards  at  the  en 
trance  of  the  mines.  All  this,  however,  he  looked 
upon  as  not  concerning  him,  save  as  it  concerned 
any  lawabiding  citizen  or  resident,  and  the  same 
\yas  the  view  taken  by  his  fellow-miners,  either  on 
skrike  or  shut  out  from  the  mines.  He  had  read 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  and  he  be- 
268 


A     CORRAL     FOR     AMERICAN     "FREEMEN"       269 

lieved  that  to  enjoy  its  protection  it  was  necessary 
only  to  obey  the  law  and  abstain  from  crime.  He 
had  observed  soldiers  busy  building  a  corral  near 
the  mining  settlement,  but  he  and  others  supposed  it 
was  for  use  as  a  military  camp  or  for  a  temporary 
garrison,  and  gave  no  special  attention  to  it. 

Clarke  was  sleeping  soundly  on  a  cool  May  night 
at  his  boarding  house,  where  ten  or  twelve  other 
miners  also  lived,  when  he  was  awakened  by  a  loud 
knocking  at  the  front  door.  It  sounded  as  if  some 
body  was  pounding  the  door  with  a  heavy  stick  of 
wood,  and  a  voice  shouted: 

"Open  at  once ;  we  are  here  by  General  Merriam's 
order!" 

The  door  was  quickly  opened.  There  stood  a 
sergeant,  two  corporals,  and  some  twenty  privates 
of  the  regular  army.  Between  the  ranks  were  about 
thirty  miners,  evidently  prisoners.  They  showed 
signs  of  having  been  suddenly  aroused  from  sleep. 

"Every  man  in  this  house  dress  and  fall  in,"  cried 
the  sergeant  as  the  door  opened.  "I  give  you  just 
five  minutes." 

"What  have  we  done?"  asked  a  miner,  putting 
his  head  out  of  a  window. 

"In  with  your  head,  or  I'll  blow  it  off!"  cried  a 
corporal.  "No  talk;  you  have  just  five  minutes  to 
dress,  and  one  is  up.  Then,  dressed  or  undressed, 
you  go  along." 

There  was  no  further  talk.  In  five  minutes'  time 
every  miner  in  the  house  was  at  the  door. 

Alexander  Clarke  was  hurried  into  line  along 
with  the  rest.  As  the  troops  and  their  captives  were 


370  ADAM     CLARKE 

about  to  start,  a  mounted  officer  came  dashing 
along. 

"What's  the  delay  here,  sergeant?''  cried  the  of 
ficer.  "Every  other  detachment  is  on  its  way  to  the 
corral." 

"The  corral/'  thought  Clarke;  "so  that  is  what 
they  were  building  the  corral  for." 

The  sergeant  saluted  the  officer  and  explained 
that  he  had  given  the  prisoners  five  minutes  to  dress. 

"After  this,  let  them  carry  their  clothes  along 
from  the  next  house,"  rejoined  the  officer. 

The  command  was  obeyed,  and  the  miners  in  the 
next  house,  the  last  one  assigned  to  the  detachment 
which  had  taken  Clarke  and  his  fellow-boarders, 
were  hurried  off  without  an  opportunity  to  put  on 
more  than  their  boots  and  had  to  carry  their  clothes. 

"Double-quick!"  cried  the  sergeant,  starting  his 
men  and  the  prisoners  for  the  corral. 

Clarke  stumbled. 

"Hurry  up!"  cried  a  corporal,  prodding  Clarke 
with  his  bayonet. 

"I'm  a  British  subject,"  said  Clarke  aloud,  "and 
I'll  complain  to  the  British  Government." 

The  sergeant  heard  the  utterance.  Turning  to 
the  corporal  he  whispered :  "Don't  do  that  again. 
If  he's  a  British  subject  there'll  be  trouble  about  it." 

A  miner,  whose  appearance  and  voice  stamped 
him  as  a  New  Englander,  asked  to  be  allowed  to 
walk  slow.  He  had  weak  lungs,  and  had  come 
West  to  get  the  benefit  of  the  climate,  while  work 
ing  for  a  living.  He  had  had  an  easy  place  in  the 
mines,  and  was  far  from  being  well.  The  sudden 


A     CORRAL     FOR     AMERICAN     "FREEMEN"      2/1 

waking  up  and  forcing  out  into  the  chill  night  air 
made  him  ill.  "I  feel  faint,"  he  said.  "Please  let 
me  rest." 

"Hurry  up,  I  tell  you!"  cried  the  corporal  who 
had  prodded  Clarke  to  the  sick  man,  and  with  a 
fierce  oath,  he  added:  "Hurry  up,  or  I'll  put  the 
bayonet  through  you!" 

The  corporal  pushed  his  bayonet  so  forcibly 
against  the  sick  miner  as  to  break  the  skin  of  his 
back,  and  provoke  a  groan  of  agony. 

The  sergeant  looked  inquiringly. 

"He's  only  an  American,"  said  the  corporal. 

The  prisoners  were  driven,  like  so  many  cattle, 
into  the  corral,  where  several  hundreds  of  other 
prisoners  were  already  gathered.  There  was  no 
accommo'dation  —  nothing  but  the  bare,  damp 
ground  —  and  no  answer  was  returned  to  those  who 
dared  to  inquire  on  what  charge  they  were  held. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

TWO    CLARKE    BROTHERS    MEET. 

IN  the  morning  meagre  rations  were  distributed 
to  the  captives,  who  were  divided  into  messes,  as  in 
a  military  camp. 

One  brave  woman  pushed  her  way  into  the  cor 
ral  along  with  her  husband,  and  as  she  refused  to 
leave  except  in  his  company,  the  military  authori 
ties  were  obliged  by  very  shame  to  release  the  hus 
band.* 

*  The  confinement  in  a  corral  as  prisoners  of  Americans 
citizens  not  charged  with  any  crime,  which  was  done  by  military 
authority  in  the  Coeur  d'Alene  region,  was  one  of  the  gravest 
outrages  ever  perpetrated  on  freemen.  General  Merriam,  who 
was  in  command  of  the  troops,  issued  a  proclamation  declaring 
organized  labor  to  be  a  criminal  conspiracy,  and  forbidding 
mine-owners  to  give  employment  to  anyone  who  belonged  to  a 
labor  organization.  This  action  aroused  general  indignation 
among  the  working-people  of  the  United  States,  but  has  never 
been  repudiated  by  the  government  at  Washington. 

Since  the  foregoing  pages  were  written  outrages  of  even  a 

graver  character  have  been  perpetrated  in  the  State  of  Colorado 

by  militia  acting  under  the  authority  of  a  Republican  governor. 

Miners  have  been  imprisoned  and  deported  from  the   State,  on 

272 


TWO     CLARKE     BROTHERS     MEET 

the  charge  that  they  belonged  to  a  labor  union.  A  number  of 
the  victims  who  are  British  subjects  have  appealed  to  that  gov 
ernment  for  redress. 

A  dispatch  under  date  of  June  21,  1904,  from  Pueblo,  Col 
orado,  stated:  "John  Yates  and  Peter  Styler,  miners,  residents  of 
Victor,  confined  in  the  bull-pen  for  weeks,  tell  a  tale  of  barbarous 
torture  by  the  militia  under  General  Bell,  and  the  condition 
of  their  arms,  which  may  have  to  be  amputated,  lends  credence 
to  their  story.  They  assert  that  they  were  strung  up  by  the 
thumbs  by  General  Bell  and  another  officer,  and  that  while  sus 
pended  they  were  beaten  with  the  flat  of  swords  and  brutally 
kicked.  They  are  in  the  hospital  here,  and  attorneys  who  have 
heard  their  statements  are  preparing  to  bring  suit  against  the 
State  Government. 

"Penniless  and  nearly  starved,  they  reached  here  in  a  box 
car  from  the  New  Mexico  line.  Yates  told  the  story  while 
lying  on  a  cot  in  the  County  Hospital. 

'We  worked  in  the  mines,'  he  said,  'and  had  no  trouble  until 
about  four  months  ago,  when  we  were  told  to  give  up  our  union 
cards.  We  refused,  and  were  discharged.  Then  came  the 
explosion  that  killed  the  scabs  at  the  Victor  depot.  As  God  is 
my  judge,  we  were  innocent,  but  that  night  we  were  arrested  in 
our  homes,  taken  without  being  allowed  to  kiss  our  wives  good- 
by  and  hurried  to  the  pen. 

'General  Bell  and  his  soldiers  asked  us  a  lot  of  questions  and 
then  we  were  taken  into  a  room  with  high  rafters  and  the 
General  in  gold  lace  and  another  they  called  Major  Naylor  raved 
at  us  and  finally  ordered  that  we  be  strung  up. 

'They  tied  knots  around  our  thumbs  and  pulled  us  up,  and 
while  we  hung  there  they  cursed  and  beat  us  with  the  flat  of 
their  swords  and  kicked  us.  I  do  not  know  how  long  it  lasted, 
for  my  head  began  to  swim  in  a  few  minutes  and  everything 
became  black.  The  next  I  remember  is  standing  in  the  sunshine, 
so  that  it  must  have  been  at  least  four  hours.  We  were  struck 
•with  a  bayonet,  forced  in  a  box  car  with  a  lot  of  others  and  then 
the  pain  was  so  bad  that  we  forgot  everything.' 

"General  Bell's  latest  statement  is  to  the  effect  that  the  labor 
troubles  in  Colorado  are  over.  He  denied  that  there  is  a  pos- 


274  ADAM     CLARKE 

Alexander  Clarke  had  noticed  that  when  he  de 
clared  himself  a  British  subject  on  his  way  to  the 
corral  he  had  been  treated  more  humanely.  He  re 
solved  to  communicate  as  soon  as  possible,  there 
fore,  with  the  British  consul  at  San  Francisco,  and 
ask  the  intervention  of  that  official  in  his  behalf. 
The  woman  who  was  released  with  her  husband 
bore  a  message  intrusted  to  her  by  Clarke,  to  be 
telegraphed  from  the  nearest  station  beyond  the 
control  of  the  military,  stating  that  Alexander 
Clarke,  a  British  subject,  not  accused  of  any  crime, 
was  held  a  prisoner  in  the  corral  at  Coeur  d'Alene, 
and  asking  that  action  be  taken  to  secure  his  libera 
tion. 

Ten  days  later  an  officer  entered  the  corral.  By 
his  side  walked  a  gray-haired  man  in  civilian's  at 
tire. 

Alexander  Clarke  was  called  forward. 

"Are  you  the  Alexander  Clarke  who  caused  this 
telegram  to  be  sent  to  the  British  consul?"  asked 
the  civilian  visitor. 

"I  am,"  said  Alexander. 

sibility  of  the  whole  State  of  Colorado  being  put  under  martial 
law,  but  said  that  if  such  a  necessity  did  arise  he  would  not 
hesitate  to  do  it." 

Not  a  word  of  remonstrance  from  Washington  against  these 
worse  than  Russian  wrongs,  although  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States — the  supreme  law  of  the  land — provides  that  "the 
right  of  the  people  to  be  secure  in  their  persons,  houses,  papers 
and  effects,  against  unreasonable  searches  and  seizures,  shall  not 
be  violated,"  and  further  provides  that  the  President  "shall  take 
care  that  the  laws  be  faithfully  executed." 


TWO     CLARKE     BROTHERS     MEET  275 

"My  name  happens  to  be  Clarke,  too — Adam 
Clarke,"  rejoined  the  civilian,  with  a  smile.  "I  am 
employed  in  the  consul's  office,  and  have  been  sent 
to  verify  your  claim,  and  if  satisfied  that  you  are 
a  British  subject,  to  procure  your  release." 

"Adam  Clarke!"  cried  Alexander.  "That  was 
my  father's  name,  and  the  name  of  my  oldest 
brother,  who  left  our  home  at  Somerton  for  Aus 
tralia,  and  has  not  been  heard  from  in  many  years." 

The  visitor  quivered.  "I  lived  in  Somerton," 
he  replied,  tremulously.  "I  am  Adam  Clarke,  the 
son  of  Adam  Clarke,  of  that  place,  and  you — and 
you  must  be  my  little  brother,  Alexander!" 

The  two  brothers  were  clasped  in  each  other's 
arms,  and  there  was  moisture  in  the  officer's  eyes 
as  he  witnessed  the  meeting. 

There  was  no  need  of  further  verification,  and 
Adam  and  Alexander  walked  out  of  the  corral  to 
gether. 

As  they  passed  from  the  gate  another  military 
officer  entered  the  corral,  accompanied  by  a  dark- 
skinned  man  with  a  gold-braided  cap.  The  dark- 
skinned  man  was  the  new  consul  at  San  Francisco 
for  Costa  Rica,  and  he  bore  an  order  tor  the  release 
of  "Tony"  the  "Dago." 

With  that  manly  generosity  characteristic  of  the 
real  American,  the  miners  cheered  their  liberated 
companions,  while  feeling  all  the  more  keenly  the 
injustice  of  treating  as  prisoners  and  convicts 
American  citizens  guiltless  of  crime. 

A  few  feet  outside  the  gate  of  the  corral  the  of- 


2/6  ADAM     CLARKE 

ficer  who  was  accompanying  the  Costa  Rica  consul 
and  Tony  was  met  by  a  deputy  marshal  who  offered 
him  a  paper. 
'     "What's  this?"  asked  the  officer  curtly. 

"A  writ  of  habeas  corpus,"  replied  the  marshal, 
"from  the  judge  of  the  United  States " 

"It  don't  go  here,"  answered  the  officer,  waving 
the  deputy  aside,  and  passing  on. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

FROM  MOTHER'S  GRAVE  TO  THE  WEDDING  OF  AN 
DREW    AND    PRISCiLLA. 

WHAT  Alexander  told  Adam  has  been  mostly  re 
lated  in  these  pages.  The  story  of  Adam  Clarke 
contained  no  startling  incidents.  He  had  gone  to 
Australia  with  high  hopes  of  fortune-making,  and 
not  meeting  the  success  he  expected  he  had  ceased 
writing  home,  intending  to  resume  correspondence 
when  in  better  circumstances.  He  found  that  with 
out  capital  his  chances  as  a  miner  were  poor,  and 
he  sought  and  obtained  employment  in  a  mercantile 
house  at  Melbourne.  This  house  had  a  branch  at 
Shanghai,  to  which  he  was  sent.  There  he  ac 
quired  some  knowledge  of  Chinese,  and  was  offered 
a  place  as  an  assistant  in  the  office  of  the  British 
Consul-General.  Thence  he  was  transferred  to  the 
San  Francisco  consul's  office.  He  had  written  to 
his  father's  former  address  at  Somerton,  about  ten 
years  before,  but  the  letter  was  returned  to  him 
undelivered.  He  had  never  married. 

Alexander  traveled   with   Adam   to   Boise   City 

and  drew  the  remainder  of  his  money  from  the  bank, 

and  then  went  with  his  brother  to  San  Francisco. 

Letters  to  Mrs.  Robert  Clarke  in  New  York,  and 

277 


2/8  ADAM     CLARKE 

to  Mary  and  Wallace  in  Craddocksboro  were  quick 
ly  answered,  with  earnest  invitations  to  Adam  and 
Alexander  to  visit  their  relatives  in  the  East.  Adam 
obtained  a  long  leave  of  absence,  and  the  two 
brothers  started  on  their  journey.  Adam  desired 
that  their  first  stop  should  be  at  Pittsburgh,  so  that 
he  could  visit  the  grave  of  their  sister,  Martha, 
and  her  baby.  A  neat  monument,  raised  by  An 
drew  Craig  since  his  return  from  Mexico,  to  the 
memory  of  his  wife  and  child,  marked  the  long- 
neglected  resting  place,  and  the  tears  of  the  two 
brothers  fell  freely  as  they  thought  of  the  hapless 
fate  of  their  sister  and  her  boy. 

Adam  and  Alexander  had  a  happy  welcome  at 
Craddocksboro.  There  they  were  introduced  to 
Craig  and  to  his  promised  wife,  Priscilla,  for  Asa 
Craddock,  although  reluctant  to  share  his  daugh 
ter's  love  with  anyone  but  her  mother,  felt  that  in 
Andrew  Craig  she  had  chosen  a  man  who  would 
not  only  be  a  faithful  husband,  but  also  an  able  and 
prudent  guardian  of  the  interests  she  would  ulti 
mately  inherit.  And  Craig,  on  his  part,  felt  that  in 
becoming  allied  to  a  family  in  control  of  large  min 
ing  properties  and  employing  hundreds  of  men,  he 
would  be  all  the  better  qualified  to  carry  into  prac 
tical  effect  his  plans  for  the  fair  treatment  of  labor, 
for  the  Golden  Rule  between  employer  and  em 
ployed.  He  loved  Priscilla  with  a  love  the  more 
deepseated  and  enduring  because  it  was  that  of  a 
man  mature  enough  to  know  his  own  heart  and 
not  to  mistake  a  shadow  for  the  reality,  the  whim 
of  an  hour  for  the  passion  of  a  lifetime.  But  for  all 


FROM    MOTHER'S   GRAVE   TO   WEDDING      279 

his  love  he  would  not  give  up  the  aim  which  had 
become  the  lodestar  of  his  career,  and  she  loved 
him  too  truly  to  wish  him  to  be  recreant  to  the 
cause  which  Martha  and  her  baby  had  sanctified 
by  their  death.  With  her  mind  broadened  by  her 
Vassar  training,  she  entered  sincerely  and  intelli 
gently  into  his  plans,  and  he  knew  that,  with  her 
at  his  side,  he  would  be  doubly  strong  for  his  chosen 
task. 

Andrew  Craig  accompanied  Adam  and  Alexan 
der  to  New  York,  where  their  first  visit,  after  greet 
ing  their  living  relatives,  was  to  the  grave  of  Mrs. 
Clarke,  beyond  the  outskirts  of  Brooklyn.  The  two 
brothers  and  Andrew  knelt  and  prayed,  and  laid 
fresh  flowers  on  the  humble  plot.  As  they  rose  to 
go  a  bluebird  warbled  sweetly  from  an  adjoining 
tree.  Its  soft  note  reminded  them  of  the  gentle 
voice  of  the  mother  who  had  gone  before,  and  they 
hoped  and  believed  that  from  the  life  beyond  she 
looked  down  upon  her  children,  to  whose  welfare 
she  had  given  her  earthly  existence. 

Andrew  and  the  brothers  spent  a  glad  week 
with  Mrs.  Robert  Clarke,  their  two  nephews,  Adam 
and  Robert,  and  their  young  niece,  Emily,  now 
growing  to  beautiful  girlhood.  Charley  Murphy 
was  made  to  come  forward,  although  he  wanted  to 
stay  in  the  background  when  the  visitors  arrived, 
and  his  pleasant  face  blushed  rosier  than  ever  as 
Mrs.  Clarke  told  of  his  goodness  in  the  time  of  her 
need,  and  of  Adam's  sad  accident.  Adam,  senior, 
and  Andrew  Craig  offered  to  help  the  young  men 
along  in  the  world,  but  they  said  that  they  pre- 


28O  ADAM     CLARKE 

ferred  to  make  their  own  way ;  that  their  newspaper 
stand  was  profitable,  and  they  intended  soon  to 
establish  themselves  in  a  book  and  stationery  store. 
They  all  promised  to  go  to  Craddocksboro  and  at 
tend  the  marriage  of  Andrew  and  Prisciila,  after 
which  Adam  would  go  back  to  San  Francisco  and 
Alexander  would  again  seek  fortune  in  the  mines 
of  the  Northwest,  to  which  region  he  had  become 
attached,  notwithstanding  his  rough  experience  at 
Coeur  d'Alene. 


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